Smoke was disconcerted by the clear gaze of her blue eyes. “Why, they say,” he stammered, “those who are in love say it, that love is dearer than life. When one finds out that he or she likes somebody better than everybody else in the world--why, then, they know they are in love. That's the way it goes, but it's awfully hard to explain. You just know it, that's all.” She looked off across the camp-smoke, sighed, and resumed work on the fur mitten she was sewing. “Well,” she announced with finality, “I shall never get married anyway.” “Once we hit out we'll sure have some tall runnin',” Shorty said dismally. “The place is a big trap,” Smoke agreed. From the crest of a bald knob they gazed out over Snass's snowy domain. East, west, and south they were hemmed in by the high peaks and jumbled ranges. Northward, the rolling country seemed interminable; yet they knew, even in that direction, that half a dozen transverse chains blocked the way. “At this time of the year I could give you three days' start,” Snass told Smoke that evening. “You can't hide your trail, you see. Anton got away when the snow was gone. My young men can travel as fast as the best white man; and, besides, you would be breaking trail for them. And when the snow is off the ground, I'll see to it that you don't get the chance Anton had. It's a good life. And soon the world fades. I have never quite got over the surprise of finding how easy it is to get along without the world.” “What's eatin' me is Danny McCan,” Shorty confided to Smoke. “He's a weak brother on any trail. But he swears he knows the way out to the westward, an' so we got to put up with him, Smoke, or you sure get yours.” “We're all in the same boat,” Smoke answered. “Not on your life. It's a-comin' to you straight down the pike.” “What is?” “You ain't heard the news?” Smoke shook his head. “The bachelors told me. They just got the word. To-night it comes off, though it's months ahead of the calendar.” Smoke shrugged his shoulders. “Ain't interested in hearin'?” Shorty teased. “I'm waiting to hear.” “Well, Danny's wife just told the bachelors,” Shorty paused impressively. “An' the bachelors told me, of course, that the maidens' fires is due to be lighted to-night. That's all. Now how do you like it?” “I don't get your drift, Shorty.” “Don't, eh? Why, it's plain open and shut. They's a skirt after you, an' that skirt is goin' to light a fire, an' that skirt's name is Labiskwee. Oh, I've been watchin' her watch you when you ain't lookin'. She ain't never lighted her fire. Said she wouldn't marry a Indian. An' now, when she lights her fire, it's a cinch it's my poor old friend Smoke.” “It sounds like a syllogism,” Smoke said, with a sinking heart reviewing Labiskwee's actions of the past several days.