The Eskimo gave a yell of triumph and defiance, and then fled on, with his two rifles, over the ridge and out of sight; nor did the enemy make any attempt to follow him. Had they done so, they might have seen that, after he had placed a good safe distance behind him, he climbed the highest peak near by, and sat there, motionless, watching for hours. Then he carefully picked his way back, keeping in shelter as much as possible, still clinging to his two rifles, one of which held a few cartridges. The magazine of the other was full. Of the party which had captured Joe and Harry, the evil-faced half-white man, who had sworn in English, seemed to be the leader. He took his way back to those who were guarding Joe and Harry, and bade them take the gags from their mouths and the bonds from their feet. Harry no sooner found his tongue free than he used it. “Look here,” he sputtered; “what does this mean? Why have you attacked us? We have done you no harm.” The half-breed smiled an evil smile, and pointed at his eye. Harry remembered the fight in the snow igloo, the blow with which he had closed his opponent’s eye, and now he remembered the face. “Bimeby plenty sorry,” the half-breed said. “No fire ghost come now.” Harry and Joe were led back to the camping-spot. There lay the body of the dead; and as the half-breed looked at it he scowled and looked at his own roughly bandaged limb, which caused him to limp painfully. He pointed at the corpse and then at the two prisoners. “One dead now,” he said; “bimeby two dead.” Then he laughed a mirthless laugh. Strongly guarded by five fierce-looking outlaws with rifles, there was no reasonable chance of escape, even when the lashings were taken from their hands as well, and the two boys submitted to being loaded with the venison they had shot, and marched on up river. A quarter of a mile away they found their dog team harnessed into the sled and their belongings securely packed upon it, guarded by a single outlaw. Here, too, was another team of four dogs and a sled, and traces of several days’ camping. It was evident that in coming up the Kukpowrak they had marched right into the camp of the outlaw Ankuts who had personated the ghost wolves, and whom they, with the lucky aid of their impromptu fire spirit, had so signally defeated. Now the tables were turned; but they were totally unprepared for the further surprise that was in store for them. That was to come many days afterward, however.