“I am afraid not. But, hello! here’s Rolfe back again.”
“I beat the way almost to the house,” the constable explained, “so I’m going after the dogs. I expect to have trouble.”
“Do the best you can,” North replied, “and I shall hurry back to help you.”
It did not take the sergeant and Marion long to come in sight of the patrol-house. It was a small building, situated a few yards from the trail. As they approached, they could see smoke issuing from the stove pipe stuck up through the roof.
“Somebody’s ahead of us, I see,” North remarked. “The place will be warm at any rate.”
In another minute they were at the door, which the sergeant at once unlatched and pushed open. They were accosted by the growl of a dog, but Marion paid little attention to the animal, for her eyes were fixed at once upon the man standing in the middle of the room. She knew him at once, and her heart almost stopped its beating. The sergeant, however, stepped forward as one who had a right to the place. If he recognized Hugo, the trapper, he gave no sign.
“Bad storm,” he remarked. “I’m glad you’ve got a good fire. I hope you won’t mind visitors.”
“Make yourself at home,” Hugo replied, mistaking him for a miner or a prospector. “All are welcome here.”
The sergeant then turned to Marion and noted how she was staring at the trapper.
“You stay here,” he said, “while I go and give a hand with the dogs. I won’t be any longer than I can help.”
Turning, he passed out into the storm, and Marion
