around the corner and gained the shadow of the
opposite wall. Fearfully he applied his eye to a crevice--the form by
the stove had not moved.

The air of the interior was heavy with smoke and tiny flames were
eating their way between the logs. The smoke thickened, blurring and
blotting out the prostrate figure. He glanced across at the window. Its
aperture was a solid sheet of flame--he was safe!

With a low, animal-like cry Creed sprang away and dashed in the
direction of the team. With shaking fingers he clawed at the knots and
slipped the halters.

Leaping into the sled, he grabbed up the lines and headed the horses
southward at a run. Behind him the sky reddened as the flames licked
hungrily at the dry logs of the shack.

"It's his own fault! It's his own fault!" he mumbled over and over
again. "Serves him right fer gittin' soused an' buildin' up a big fire
in a busted stove. 'Twasn't no fault of his that spark didn't catch the
roof. Serves him right! Maybe it did catch--maybe it did. 'Taint my
fault no-how--it must 'a' caught--I seen it thataway so plain! Oh, my
God! Oh, my God," he babbled, "if they git to askin' me!

"It was thisaway, mister; yes, sir; listen: I was camped in the ravine,
an' all to wunst I seen the flare of the fire an' I run over there; but
'twas too late--the roof had fell in an' the pore feller must 'a' been
cooked alive. It was turrible, mister--turrible!

"An' I run an' hitched up the team an' druv to Hilarity hell bent fer a
potlatch--that's the way of it--s'elp me God it is! If you don't
b'lieve it ask Moncrossen--ask Moncrossen, I mean, if he didn't have no
booze along--he must 'a' been drunk--an' him crippled thataway!

"Oh, Lordy, Lord! I ain't supposed to know it was the greener, let
alone he was crippled! I'm all mixed up a'ready! They better not go
askin' me questions lessen they want to git me hung--Goda'mi'ty! I'd
ort to done like Moncrossen said!"

So he raved in a frenzy of terror as the horses sped southward at a
pace that sent the steam rising in clouds from their heaving sides.

And under the big tarpaulin in the rear of the sled-box the greener
grinned as he listened, and eyed the gibbering man through a narrow
slit in the heavy canvas.

CHAPTER XXI

DADDY DUNNIGAN

It was broad daylight when Creed pulled the team up before a
tumbled-down stable in the rear of one of the outstraggling cabins at
the end of Hilarity's single street. Hastily he unhitched a