Wakening out of the first doze I had fallen into through that long night I was constrained to rise and poke my head out of the tent in which I slept to make sure that I had not dreamed it all. For the event savored of a bolt from a clear sky. I could scarcely believe that only a few hours back I had listened to the details of its accomplishment; how Bolton had in the fullness of time received both my letters; how he had traced me step by step from MacLeod north, and how he had only located me on the Sicannie River, through the aid of the Hudson’s Bay Company. He was on his way to the post. Our meeting was purely accidental. And so on. From the tent I saw a lone sentinel plying the fire. I slipped on the few clothes I had taken off, and sat down beside the cheery crackle of the blaze, to meditate upon the miracle. I was sane enough to shudder at what might have been, if Barreau and I had had a few minutes longer. In an hour all the camp was awake. Bolton’s cook prepared breakfast, and we ate by candle-light in a tent warmed by a sheet-iron stove. How one’s point of view shuffles like the needle of a compass! A tent with a stove in it, where one could be thoroughly comfortable, impressed me as the pyramid-point of luxury. After that there was the confusion of tearing up camp and loading a half-dozen dog-teams. Jessie sat by the great fire that was kept up outside, and her face was troubled. Barreau, I noticed, drew Bolton a little way off, where the two of them stood talking earnestly together, Bolton expostulating, Barreau urging. Directly after that I saw Barreau with two of Bolton’s men to help him, load one of the dog-teams over again. He led it to one side; his snowshoes lying on the load. Then he came over to Jessie. Reaching within his _parka_ he drew forth the package he had taken off Montell’s body, and held it out to her. “Girl,” he said, and there was that in his voice which gave me a sudden pang, and sent a flush of shame to my cheek, “here is your father’s money. There is no need for me to take care of it now. Good-bye.” She stared up at him, making no move to take the package, and so with a little gesture he dropped it at her feet and turned away. And as he laid hold of the dog-whip she sprang to her feet and ran after him. “George, George!” If ever a cry sounded a note of pain, that did. It made me wince. He whirled on his heel, and the dog-whip fell unheeded in the snow. “Oh, oh,” she panted, “I can’t take that. It isn’t mine. It’s blood-money. And—and if you go by yourself, I shall go with you.” “With me,” he held her by the shoulder, looking down into her upturned face. Never before had I seen such a variety of expression on his features, in so short a span of time, hope, tenderness, puzzlement, a panorama of emotions. “I’m an outlaw. There’s a price on my head—you know that. And you yourself have said—ah, I won’t repeat the things you have said. You know—you knew you were stabbing me when——”