Except for the bed of balsam boughs, her arrangements for the night were just as they had been the first day.  Again she built up a big fire, piled the wood in front of the door, and put the rifle within reach.  Again she was asleep almost at once, within a minute of the time when she nestled down to find a soft spot in the springy mattress she had made.

Jessie worked hard on the second ski.  By noon she had it pretty well shaped.  Unfortunately a small split in the wood developed into a larger one.  She was forced to throw it aside and begin on another piece.

A hundred times her eyes had lifted to sweep the snow field for any sign of the hunters’ return.  Now, looking out of the window without much expectation of seeing them, her glance fell on a traveler, a speck of black on a sea of white.  Her heart began to beat a drum of excitement.  She waited, eyes riveted, expecting to see a second figure and a dog-team top the rise and show in silhouette.

None appeared.  The man advanced steadily.  He did not look backward.  Evidently he had no companion.  Was this lone traveler West?

Jessie picked up the rifle and made sure that it was in good working order.  A tumultuous river seemed to beat through her temples.  The pulses in her finger-tips were athrob.

Could she do this dreadful thing, even to save honor and life, though she knew the man must be twice a murderer?  Once she had tried and failed, while he stood taunting her with his horrible, broken-toothed grin.  And once, in the stress of battle, she had wounded him while he was attacking.

The moving black speck became larger.  It came to her presently with certainty that this was not West.  He moved more gracefully, more lightly, without the heavy slouching roll....  And then she knew he was not Whaley either.  One of her friends!  A little burst of prayer welled out of her heart.

She left the cabin and went toward the man.  He waved a hand to her and she flung up a joyful gesture in answer.  For her rescuer was Onistah.

Jessie found herself with both hands in his, biting her lower lip to keep back tears.  She could not speak for the emotion that welled up in her.

“You—­all well?” he asked, with the imperturbable facial mask of his race that concealed all emotion.

She nodded.

“Good,” he went on.  “Your father pray the Great Spirit keep you safe.”

“Where is Father?”

He looked in the direction from which he had come.  “We go Jasper’s cabin—­your father, red soldier, American trader, Onistah.  You gone.  Big storm—­snow—­sleet.  No can go farther.  Then your father he pray.  We wait till Great Spirit he say, ‘No more wind, snow,’ Then we move camp.  All search—­go out find you.”  He pointed north, south, east, and west.  “The Great Spirit tell me to come here.  I say, ’Sleeping Dawn she with God, for Jesus’ sake, Amen.’”

“You dear, dear boy,” she sobbed.