A half-hour later he pulled up his dogs before the door of a deserted cabin and explored its interior. “This will do till Old Man Gordon gets back,” he decided, and proceeded to unharness his dogs. This done, he carried his pack from the toboggan and tossed it upon the floor of the cabin. “Wonder where the old man went an’ how long he’s goin’ to stay?” he mused, “Nolan prob’ly. She said she expected him back any time.” A slow smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “I wonder if she’s found my note, yet? I wonder if she cares? Maybe I hadn’t ought to put that down--about us two bein’ tired of missin’ life. Wish I hadn’t. Wonder if she’ll be watchin’ for me to come back?” He paused abruptly, and stepping to the door, stared in the direction from which he had come. “I wonder if them two would bother her any?” Smiling at the thought, he returned to his unpacking. A few moments later he again stepped to the door and gazed up the creek. “Hell!” he muttered, “No one would bother a woman! But--the big one was drunk. She’s a sourdough all right an’ able to take care of herself. But--it wouldn’t hurt to kind of mush along up that way--maybe the old man’s got back.” MacShane laughed aloud: “Trouble with me is I’m just naturally honin’ to be near her. You can’t never tell what a drunk man will do. I’ve got a kind of a hunch I ought to hit the back trail--an’ when I get a hunch--I ride it!” Fastening on his snowshoes he struck swiftly off up the creek. Their trail afforded good footing, and he walked rapidly. At the point when the two-man outfit halted for the second time he paused and examined the tracks in the snow. “Someone else was comin’ down the creek besides me,” he muttered, “Someone in my trail--an’ when he met this other outfit he turned around an’--” MacShane’s words ceased abruptly as he further examined the marks left by the snowshoes where their edges overlapped the toboggan trail. “He was runnin’,” he exclaimed “What in hell?” For an instant his heart ceased beating. Could it have been--_her_? Why had she turned back--running? The thought raced through his brain, and with a hoarse cry he dashed up the trail. Rounding the last bend he stopped, horror-stricken. The red flare of flames confronted him. The cabin was on fire! No, it was light brush piled against the cabin! By the light of the leaping blaze he could make out the figures of the two armed men watching the cabin. The larger of the two stood upon the bank of the creek scarce twenty yards away. He caught the glint of the heavy revolver in the man’s hand. MacShane was unarmed. Swiftly releasing the thongs of his snowshoes, he dropped from the bank to a strip of wind-swept ice, dashed toward the motionless figure of the man. “Come on out! Damn you! I told you the time would come when you would talk pretty to Jake Dalzene!” The words ended in a startled cry as MacShane hurled himself upon him. The six gun, knocked from his hand, buried itself in the snow.