“Then I will not reach it at all. Get on the sledge.” Tillie smiled but did not move. “The Snow-Burner at last has become like other white men. He wishes to do what is right.” She pointed at the snoring Moir. “He would not be so weak.” While Reivers looked at her in amazement the squaw stepped forward, straightened out the dogs, kicked them viciously and sent the sledge, bearing Neopa alone, flying up the river-bed. “To send Neopa back to Nawa is well and good,” she said, returning to Reivers. “She would weep for Nawa all day and night, and would grow sick and die on our hands. But there is no Nawa waiting for Tillie. Tillie is tired of her tepee with no man in it. Iron Hair has smiled upon me, Snow-Burner. I will smile upon him. His smile will answer mine as the dry pine lights up when the match is touched to it. I have looked in his eyes and know. He will forget Neopa. Tillie will help the Snow-Burner rob Iron Hair. Is it well?” “Get back to your blankets,” commanded Reivers. “If you wish it, we will let it be so. Sleep long. Do not stir until you hear that Iron Hair has awakened.” CHAPTER XXXVII—INTO THE JAWS OF THE BEAR Shanty Moir stirred when the first rays of the morning sun, glancing off the snow, struck his eyes. He rose like a musk-ox lifting itself from its snow wallow, with mighty heaves and grunts, and looked around. He was blear-eyed and puffed of face, his throat was raw and burning from the unbelievable amount of hooch he had swallowed in the night, but his abnormal organisation had thrown off the effects of the alcohol and he was cold sober. His first move was to cool his throat with handfuls of snow, his second to step over and regard the apparently paralysed Reivers with a look of mingled triumph and contempt. “Eh, old sonny! Would a drinked with Shanty Moir, wouldst ’ee?” he chuckled. “Happen thee got thy old soak’s skin filled to overflow that time. Get up, you waster!” he commanded, stirring the prostrate form with a heavy foot “Up with you!” Reivers did not stir, but he put that touch of the foot down as something extra that Moir would have to pay for. He was apparently lying steeped in the depths of drunken slumber, and he wished to drive the impression firmly into Shanty Moir’s mind that he had been dead to the world all night. Hence he did not interrupt his snoring as Moir’s foot touched him. “Laid out stiff!” laughed Moir. He reached down, lifted Reivers’ head from the snow and let it fall heavily. Still Reivers made no sign of awakening. Moir looked at him for a moment, then slily tiptoed toward the shelter tepee and threw up the flap. The next instant a bellow of rage shattered the morning quiet. Like a maddened bear Moir was back at Reivers, cuffing, kicking, cursing, commanding that he wake up. Reivers awoke only in degree. Not until Moir had opened a new bottle of hooch and poured a drink down his throat did he essay to sit up and open his eyes.