e of a man slip behind a tree. He still waited and watched, but
the figure did not re-appear, then Helen who had walked round the
bushes spoke.

"There _was_ some one here!"

"Yes," he answered, "and whoever it was did not wish to encounter us.
He has made his way into the wood."

"What do you think it means?"

"I do not know," he answered, "but I am afraid that there are hostile
Indians about us."

"You think they are watching the cabin--watching us, for a chance to
attack?"

"It has that appearance," answered Stane quietly.

The girl was silent for a moment, then she gave a little laugh that had
in it a ring of courage. "I am not afraid, but I wish we had another
rifle."

Stane flashed at her a glance of admiration, then gave another long
look into the silent wood which now seemed full of menace.

"Perhaps we had better return to the cabin."

"No," answered the girl stubbornly. "We will look at the snares first.
I'm not going to be frightened from my dinner by a wandering Indian."

And they went forward together.

CHAPTER XV

A FACE AT THE TENT-DOOR

"Look," cried Helen. "Look!"

They had almost reached the cabin on the return journey and were full
in view of the lake. As she cried the words she pointed over its
snow-laden surface, and Stane, looking in the direction indicated, saw
that which made his heart leap. A dog-team was coming up the lake, with
a man on snow-shoes packing the trail in front.

"Who can it be?" asked the girl in some excitement.

"The owner of the cabin--for a certainty!" answered Stane, conscious of
a sudden relief from the anxiety which the morning had brought.

"Then," answered the girl quietly, "you wait to welcome him, whilst I
go and prepare a meal."

She passed into the cabin, whilst Stane walked down to the shore of the
lake. The traveller whoever he was, was making directly for the cabin,
and watching, Stane saw that he walked wearily as if he had come far,
or was suffering from some weakness. It was quite an appreciable time
before he saw Stane standing to welcome him, and when he did so, he
gave a joyous shout. Stane answered the hail, and a few minutes later
when the man halted his dogs he saw that he was mistaken in concluding
the new-comer was the owner of the cabin, for he was garbed in the
winter dress of the Nor-west Mounted Police.

"Cheero," said the policeman in greeting. "Where's Jean Benard?"

Stane shook his head. "Don't know. Is Jean Be