"Better look around and find one. If you don't, I'll be obliged to shave you with my jackknife--and it will be inclined to pull. It's sharp enough for skinning grizzlies but not for that growth of yours. And I'll try to trim your hair up for you a little, too. When you bathe, bathe all over--don't spare your face or your hair. Water may seem strange at first, but you'll get used to it. And I'll go over and sit with Joe Robinson and his friend until you are ready. The surroundings are more appetizing. If you can polish yourself well in an hour, we'll make it through to-night." Harold's heart burned, but he acquiesced. Then Bill turned and left him to his ablutions. Less than an hour later Harold came mushing up the lean-to where Bill waited. And the hour had wrought a profound and amazing change in the man's appearance. He had conscientiously gone to work to cleanse himself, and he had succeeded. His hair, dull before, was a glossy dark-brown now; he had shaved off the matted growth about his lips, leaving only a small, neat mustache; his hair was trimmed and carefully parted. The man's skin had also resumed its natural shade. For the first time Bill realized that Harold was really a rather handsome man. His features were much more regular than Bill's own. The lips were fine,--just a little too fine, in fact, giving an intangible but unmistakable hint of cruelty. The only thing that had not changed was his eyes. They were as smoldering and wolfish as ever. By Bill's instructions he had loaded his back with blankets, his pistol was at his belt, and he carried a thirty-five rifle in the hollow of his arm. "I'm ready," he said gruffly. "I'm glad to hear it." Bill glanced at his watch. "It's late, but by mushing fast we can make it in by dark. I told Virginia that I'd likely need an extra day at least--she'll think I've worked fast. She'd know it--if she had seen how you looked an hour ago. I was counting on finding you somewhere along the Yuga." "We moved up--a few weeks ago." "There's one other thing, before we start. I want you to tell these understrappers of yours to take that squaw and clear out of Clearwater. Tell 'em to take her back where she belongs--to Buckshot Dan. He'll take her in, all right. I've been working in Miss Tremont's interests until now--now I'm working in my own. This happens to be my trapping country. If I come back in a few weeks and find them still here there's apt to be some considerable shedding of a bad mixture of bad blood. In other words--skin out while you yet can." The half-breeds, understanding perfectly, looked to Harold for confirmation. The latter had already learned several lessons of importance this day, and he didn't really care to learn any more. His answer was swift. "Go, as he says," Harold directed. Their dark faces grew sullen. The idea was evidently not to their favor. Then one asked a question in the Indian vernacular.