“If the storm would break I’d try to reach town,” she said presently. “No chance. You stay here where you’re safe, miss.” “My friends will worry.” “Let ’em.” “What was that?” the girl asked. She had heard a sound of something striking the side of the house. “Prob’ly a limb flung by the wind. Never saw such a night.” Victoria shuddered. But for good fortune she might have now been perishing in the snow. “How long do you think it will last?” she asked. “Can’t tell. Maybe till mo’ning. Maybe two-three days.” “Oh, it couldn’t last that long,” the girl cried, appalled. “Hmp! Guess you don’t know a Nevada blizzard.” Again he looked at her, a leer on his heavy face. “You’re liable to have to put up with old Sam for quite a spell, missie.” Vicky did not answer. Her eyes were meeting his and the blood crept into her cheeks. There was a furtive sinister menace between his narrowed lips that reminded her of a wolf creeping toward its kill. She looked away, her heart hammering fast. What sort of a creature was this man with whom she was locked up a million miles away from all the safeguards of society? In the glowing coals she found no answer to that question. Presently she stole a sidelong look at him. He was pouring a drink from the whisky bottle. “How?” he said, lifting the glass toward her. He tilted back his hairy throat and drained the tumbler. A heavy pounding on the door startled the drinker. He listened. Victoria was at the door instantly. She flung it open. A man lurched forward and crumpled up on the floor. CHAPTER XXIII TWO PLUS ONE MAKES THREE With a swift movement of her supple body Vicky was on her knees beside the man. She slipped an arm under his head. Icy sleet encrusted his clothes. It clung in icicles to his hair and eyebrows. It matted his lashes and small Vandyke beard. From her throat came an astonished little cry of recognition. The man was Hugh McClintock. Over her shoulder she called to the big man at the table. “Bring me whisky and water—please.” He brought it, then closed the door. Awkwardly he stood above her. “Had a hell’v a close call,” he growled sulkily. It did not suit him to entertain a second guest. Vicky let the whisky drop between the lips. Presently Hugh opened his eyes. He smiled feebly at her. Surprise wiped out the smile. “Little Vicky,” he murmured. “Ump-hu,” she nodded. Then, to the hulking figure behind her, the girl gave order: “Help me carry him nearer the fire. He’s ’most frozen.” The fellow shambled forward and stooped down. As he did so his eyes fell on the face of the helpless traveller. He ripped out a savage oath. With the sweep of an arm he dragged the girl to her feet and hurled her back to the wall. His fury struggled for expression. “Gotcha. Gotcha good an’ right. I’m gonna stomp the life outa you. Gona put my heel on yore throat an’ crack yore spine. Un’erstand?”