“No. I’m sorry, but--I’m all alone. My father--isn’t here.” Instantly she regretted the words. What if the man were a confederate of Dalzene, and Dalzene should find that she was alone? “I--I expect him back anytime,” she added, as an after-thought. “You can camp in the wood house. It is dry in there, and sheltered from the wind.” “Thanks,” answered the voice, “I will.” She heard his footsteps recede from the cabin, a few moments elapsed and she heard his voice urging the dogs up the slope from the creek. Later she breathed against a frost-coated pane of the window, and when a tiny spot had cleared, she peeped out. The man was carrying an armful of spruce boughs into the wood house. He returned for another huge armful which he spread on top of the snow upon the sheltered side of the building for his dogs. “No friend of Dalzene would do that!” exclaimed the girl, under her breath, and turning to the stove, she slipped a caribou steak into the frying pan, and brewed a pot of strong tea. When the steak was done, she took the pan and the teapot and opening the door called to the man: “Here is some tea, and steak. Better get them while they’re hot!” And, as his figure emerged from the wood house, she once more slammed the door. She heard him come for the food, and return to the wood house. Then she blew out her lamp and went to bed, with her rifle within reach of her hand. When she awoke next morning and once more cleared a space on the pane and looked out the man had gone. She could see his trail where it led off down the creek. After breakfast she fed her dogs and as she returned from the corral was attracted by the peculiar actions of Skookum, who was rushing into the wood house and out again, with short dashes down the trail of the departed traveler, evincing evidences of excitement and delight. He bounded to her side, looked into her face, and again raced off to the wood house. What did it mean? Skookum was no fool puppy to caper about in this manner. He was the most sedate and indifferent of dogs. Half in wonder the girl followed him to the wood house, where she found him sniffing about the pile of boughs upon which the man had made his bed. A little square of white paper attracted her attention. It was a page torn from a small note book and pinned to the wood house door by means of a sliver. There was pencil writing upon the paper, and carrying it into the cabin she held it close to the lamp, and began to read the awkwardly scribbled words. But, at the first sentence a cry escaped her lips, as with trembling fingers she turned the scrap of paper over and stared at the signature. For a moment she stood motionless her face paling and flushing as the hot blood surged from her wildly pounding heart. Turning the paper her eyes devoured the words in feverish haste: