Crawford looked, and saw the burly figure of Maclish. Then he saw Maclish stop and fling back his head, and caught the insolent call. “Come ye out and talk, Crawford! Bring your black dog if ye like--there’s guns all trained on ye. No talk now of putting a knife in me, eh?” Crawford beckoned to Frontin and walked out toward where Maclish stood. Desperately, he fought down his raging anger; he must keep cool at all costs. It would do no good to strike down this murderous rogue and then die at the hands of the hidden Stone Men. “Well, say your word!” exclaimed Maclish, baring his yellow fangs. “Those young men of mine are impatient. Do you go back to Albany, or shall we finish you off?” “I don’t go back, that’s certain,” said Crawford, eyeing him steadily. “All I ask you is to spare those men of mine. Let them go in peace.” “So!” Maclish laughed at this. “You’d sooner stay under the snow, eh? Have it any way ye like, man. I’ll be going on to find the Star Woman--hey! What deil’s business is this?” He swung around, the agile movement betraying that his brawn was all corded sinew. From the trees, near and far, were sounding sharp staccato yelps, indicating the large force of men concealed; then appeared figures leaping into sight, shouts flinging back and forth. Even Crawford comprehended that something eventful had occurred. After a moment two Indians left the trees, starting forward toward the group. One of them was stumbling, exhausted, his snowshoes draggling as he walked. The other was obviously a chief--the chief of the Stone Men with Maclish. The Scot, who must have comprehended what the shouting meant, spat an oath and then stood frowning. Crawford, alert to snatch at whatever might turn up, waited in silence. The two redskins came forward across the snow. The messenger panted out swift words, accompanying them by pantomime which showed that he had been drawn to this place by the smoke of Crawford’s fire. That he was not one of Maclish’s party was fairly evident from his manner. Maclish heard him out, heard a word from the chief, then swore fervently and looked at Crawford. “The deil’s luck! A message for ye, Crawford,” he said, snarling. “This lad and two others were hunting, were caught by some Dacotah, and the others were killed. This lad was sent back with a message, and the chief says ye must have it.” “What’s the message?” demanded Crawford. Maclish eyed him sullenly, but delivered it. “That two chiefs sent by the Star Woman expect to meet ye at the Spirit Lake. News of you has gone on, eh? Now, what d’ye know of it?”