“A new trail to me, lad,” he said. “Where to, now?” “On a fool’s trail,” laughed Reivers bitterly, and drove on. Next morning MacGregor recognised the land ahead. “Straight for Dumont’s Camp we’re heading, lad,” he said. “Is it there we go?” “Yes.” They came to Dumont’s Camp as night fell. Reivers halted and made sundry enquiries. “In a shack half ways between here and Fifty Mile,” was the substance of the replies. “Hi-yah! Mush, mush up!” and they were on the trail again. At daylight the next day, from a rise in the land, he saw the shack that had been designated. Smoke was rising from the chimney, and a small figure that he knew even at that distance came out, filled a pail with snow and went in again. Reivers stopped his dogs some distance from the shack. He threw MacGregor, gold belt and all, over his shoulder and went up to the door and knocked. For a second or two he smiled triumphantly as Hattie MacGregor opened the door and stood speechless at what she saw. Then he bowed low, laid his burden on the floor and went out without a word. The dogs shuddered as they heard him laugh coming back to them. “Hi-yah, mush!” He drove them furiously into a gully that shut out the sight of the shack and sat down on the sledge. The dogs whined. It was the time for the morning meal and the master was making no preparations to eat. “Still, you curs!” The whip fell mercilessly among them and they crouched in terror. The time went by. The sun began to climb upward in the sky. Still the man sat on the sledge, making no preparations for the morning meal. The memory of the whip-cuts died in the dogs’ minds under the growing clamour of hunger. They began to whine again. “Still!” The master was on his feet, but the whip had fallen from his hand. Down at the end of the gully a small figure was coming over the snow. She was running, and her red hair flowed back over her shoulders, and she laughed aloud as she came up to him. The pain was gone from Hattie MacGregor’s lips, and her whole face beamed with a complete, unreasoning happiness, but the pride of her breed shone in her eyes even unto the end. “Well, well!” sneered Reivers. “Aren’t you afraid to come so near anything that pollutes the air?” She laughed again. She did not speak. She only looked at him and smiled, and by the Eve-wisdom in the smile he knew that his secret was hers. He felt himself weakening, but the Snow-Burner died hard. He tried to laugh his old, cold laugh, but the ice had been thawed in it. “What do you want?” he sneered. “I’m not a good enough man for you. Why did you come out here?” “Because I knew you would not go away again,” she said, “and because now I know you are a good enough man for me.” “You red-haired trull!” He raised his hand to strike her. She did not flinch; she merely smiled up at him confidently, contentedly. Suddenly she caught his clenched fist in her hands and kissed it. With a curse Reivers swung around on his dogs.