But somewhere beyond was her father, fleeing from place to place, with that expression of a hunted creature in his grey eyes. She had seen it for a few seconds as he bounded from the cabin that night into the heart of the storm. She had thought about it much since, and it had puzzled her. And following her father was John North, the man who had avowed his love for her. Would they meet somewhere in that desolate wilderness? What would be the outcome? And then there was Bill, the Slugger. Had he already started forth upon his diabolical quest? Perhaps he would creep upon the sergeant and the constable asleep around their camp-fire at night. The thought was terrible. Such a thing had taken place before, she well knew, and it might happen again. In vain she racked her brain in an effort to devise some plan to avert a tragedy, and perhaps two.
For several hours they continued on their way, and at last when the summit of an extra heavy hill had been reached, Zell called a halt. The dogs were glad to stop, so flopping down upon the trail they began to clear particles of snow and ice from their feet with their teeth. Nearby was a clump of fir trees, several of which were dead and afforded excellent fuel. It did not take Zell long to prepare a fire, over which she placed a kettle filled with snow. While this latter was melting, she unpacked her supply of provisions and laid them out near the fire. Marion, standing watching, was pleased at the girl’s deftness and neatness. She knew exactly what to do, and when the meal was ready, she served the simple repast with an admirable grace.
“I suppose you were taught to cook at the mission school,” Marion remarked, helping herself to a piece of
