our heels when the rifles fired from the shore----"

"Then you _were_ with that second sledge?"

"Yes, I and Jean Benard!"

"I saw you and I wondered," cried Helen. "But the half-breed had told
me you were dead."

"We lost you in the snow," said Stane, continuing his explanation, "but
found Anderton, and though the snow was as bad as ever, after a time we
started to search for your trail. Jean Benard found it deep in the wood
where we were searching, knowing the lake was impossible for any one to
travel in the storm, and after he had made the discovery, Anderton and
I started to track you."

"And where is Jean Benard?" asked Helen quickly. "I want to thank him
for saving you, for bringing joy back to me when I thought that it was
dead for ever."

"He is following us, he will be here, presently."

"Then I shall see him?"

"I hope so. But we must hurry on, dear. The dogs----"

"Bother the dogs--."

"But I want to hear Gerald Ainley's explanation. It is important that I
should."

"I have already heard it," said Helen quickly. "It is full of lies."

"You think so?"

"I know it."

"All the more reason that I should hear it with Anderton. There is much
more behind all this than you know, Helen."

"Perhaps I guess something of what lies behind."

"I do not think you can. It is an extraordinary story, and there will
be a _denouement_ presently that will surprise Ainley. Come!"

They moved forward together, found the dogs, and having righted the
sledge by which they had been anchored, they returned to the camp.
Ainley, pipe in hand, apparently quite cool, was talking. He gave one
glance at the couple as they re-entered the circle of light, watched
Stane for a moment as he stooped to unharness the dogs, and then
continued the story he had been telling glibly and evenly.

"Having got the news, I made straight for the cabin, and had the
ill-luck to arrive there half an hour too late. One of the men found a
dead man, who, from the description, I mistook for Stane there, and we
also found a wounded Indian, who, with a little persuasion, told us
what he knew, which was that a half-breed, of the name of Chigmok,
inflamed with love for Miss Yardely, had carried her off, designing to
make her his squaw. I understand this Chigmok is what the Indians call
a bad man--but perhaps you know him?"

He broke off and looked directly at Anderton as he spoke, and waited
for a reply. The mounted policeman nodded, and as casu