ld in the
cabin?"

"Jennie see 'um."

"Jennie who?"

"Jennie. Yukon Jennie. Injun squaw. She see 'um. She tell old
chief."

"Whar is she then?" and Pete looked around as if expecting to see the
girl.

"Up dere," and Amos stretched out his hand towards the Indian lodges.

"Fetch her down. We'll wait."

"No squaw come to Council. Only men, hunters."

"But this ain't all Injun Council. White men here, an' they ax fer the
gal."

When this was communicated to the chief, a scowl passed over his face,
and a sharp discussion took place among the Indians. What they said
the miners could not tell, but after much bickering Amos lifted up his
voice and gave several short calls in the direction of the lodges.
Soon a reply was returned, and then down the trail sped Jennie towards
the Council ground. As she drew near her steps slackened, for was she
not breaking a custom of long standing among her people? Encouraged by
Amos, she at length reached the place, and was requested to relate her
story.

So intent were the miners upon their task that they scarcely noticed
the change which had taken place around them, or how the time was
passing. The wind had risen, moaning gently at first, but increasing
in strength, blowing in from the Yukon, and drawing up the Kaslo as
through a mighty funnel. It shook and swayed the trees along the banks
of the stream; it played with the old chief's blanket, causing him to
clutch it firmly, and tossed Jennie's long black hair in confusion
about her oval, dusky face.

Timidly the maiden stood before the expectant miners, uncertain what to
say.

"Speak out, gal," encouraged Pete. "Ye needn't fear. Nothin'll harm
ye."

"Hold on!" called out one of the miners. "Wouldn't it be as well for
Bill to stand forth so all can see him?"

"Hear, hear!" shouted the men.

But Pritchen shrank back, and glanced around as if seeking some avenue
of escape.

"No, ye don't do that, man," said Caribou Sol, interpreting his
thoughts. "Not till we're through with ye, at any rate."

Pritchen was in a trap, he fully realized that, and a wild rage mingled
with his fear. He reached for his revolver, but it was not there.
Anyway it would have been of little use, for instantly a score of
revolvers leaped from as many hip pockets, and covered him in the
twinkling of an eye.

"Come out here!" roared Pete, "an' stand up like a man. Thar's no use
kickin'."

There was nothing else to be done, a