Inside the cabin the girl stood gripping her rifle. Cold fear clutched her heart. She closed her eyes, and for a moment the world swam and she reeled, slightly. Fire! They would fire the cabin. Instantly she recovered herself. Well, it was the end. She would go out--when the smoke and heat forced her out. But she would go out shooting. She would never surrender! Never would that brute defile her living body with his foul touch. He might kill her, but he would never take her alive. The odds were two-to-one, but she would die fighting. She would kill them, or force them to kill her. She could hear the enraged Dalzene ordering the man to carry spruce branches. She could hear the branches being heaped against the cabin. Then--the crackle of flames--louder and louder the crackling sounded, until it rose in a steady roar. The frost began to melt on the window panes, some chinking from high on the wall fell to the floor and the acrid smell of smoke reached her nostrils. Leaping to the window whose panes were fast clearing in the heat she saw Dalzene standing upon the edge of the creek facing the door. A cloud of smoke shot through with red flame swept past the window, concealing the figure. Stepping back the girl cocked her rifle and raising it waited for the smoke-screen to drift past. * * * * * “Wonder where they’re headin’?” muttered MacShane as the two-man outfit disappeared in the darkness. “Guzzlin’ hooch on the trail ain’t goin’ to git ’em far. The big one was plumb drunk. They’ll have to camp before long. Anyway,” he grinned, “They’ve left me a good trail!”