nd led the
horses through the door.

As he disappeared Bill slipped from under the canvas and limped stiffly
around the corner of the stable, and none too soon, for as Creed
returned to the sled for the oats and blankets the cabin door opened,
and a tall, angular woman appeared, carrying an empty water-pail.

"So ye've come back, hev ye?" she inquired in a shrewish voice. "Well,
ye're jest in time to fetch the water an' wood. Where d'ye git that
rig?" she added sharply, eying the sled.

"None o' yer damn business! An' you hurry up an' cook breakfast ag'in'
I git back from Burrage's, er I'll rig you!"

"Yeh, is that _so_? Jest you lay a finger on me, you damn timber-thievin'
boot-legger, an' I'll bust you one over the head with the peaked end of
a flatiron! Where ye goin' ter hide when the owner of them team comes a
huntin' of 'em? Ha, ha, ha!"

"Shet up!" growled the man so shortly that the woman, eying him
narrowly, turned toward the rickety pump, which burbled and wheezed as
she worked the handle, filling the pail in spasmodic splashes.

"One of Moncrossen's teamsters got burnt up in the shack at Melton's
No. 8, an' I found the team in the stable an' druv 'em in," he
vouchsafed as he brushed by the woman on his way to the street.
"'Twouldn't look right if I shet up about it; I'll be back when I tell
Burrage."

"Fetch some bacon with ye," called the woman as she filled her dirty
apron with chips. She paused before lifting the pail from the spout of
the wooden pump and gazed speculatively at the tote-sled.

"He's lyin'," she said aloud. "He's up to some fresh devilment, an'
'pears like he's scairt. Trouble with Creed is, he ain't got no
nerve--he's all mouth. I sure was hard up fer a man when I tuk
_him_--but he treats me middlin' kind, an' I'd kind of hate to see him
git caught--'cause he ain't no good a liar, an' a man anyways smart'd
mix him up in a minit."

She lifted the pail and pushed through the door of the cabin.

"Nice people," muttered Bill as he cast about for an exit.

Keeping the stable in line with the window of the cabin, he made his
way through a litter of tin cans and rubbish, gaining the shelter of
the scrub, where he bent a course parallel with the street.

He was stiff and sore from his cramped position in the sled, and his
foot pained sharply. His progress was slow, and he paused to rest on
the edge of a small clearing, in the center of which, well back from
the highway, stood a tiny