“This Chippewa knew we were in the country,” he argued, “but he hadn’t any idea we were so close.  If he had, he wouldn’t have been so foolish as to follow his own back track when he was going out.  I don’t know what his ideas were, of course, but he was almighty surprised to see us here.  He’s warned this Jingoss, not more than a day or so ago.  But he didn’t tell him to skedaddle at once.  He said, ’Those fellows are after you, and they’re moseying around down south of here, and probably they’ll get up here in the course of the winter.  You’d probably better slide out ‘till they get done.’  Then he stayed a day and smoked a lot, and started back.  Now, if Jingoss just thinks we’re coming some time, and not to-morrow, he ain’t going to pull up stakes in such a hell of a hurry.  He’ll pack what furs he’s got, and he’ll pick up what traps he’s got out.  That would take him several days, anyway.  My son, we’re in the nick of time!”

“Sam, you’re a wonder,” said Dick, admiringly.  “I never could have thought all that out.”

“If that idea’s correct,” went on Sam, “and the Chippewa’s just come from Jingoss, why we’ve got the Chippewa’s trail to follow back, haven’t we?”

“Sure!” agreed Dick, “all packed and broken.”

They righted the sledge and unbound the dogs’ jaws.

“Well, we got rid of the girl,” said Dick, casually.  “Damn little fool.  I didn’t think she’d leave us that easy.  She’d been with us quite a while.”

“Neither did I,” admitted Sam; “but it’s natural, Dick.  We ain’t her people, and we haven’t treated her very well, and I don’t wonder she was sick of it and took the first chance back.  We’ve got our work cut out for us now, and we’re just as well off without her.”

“The Chippewa’s a sort of public benefactor all round,” said Dick.

The dogs yawned prodigiously, stretching their jaws after the severe muzzling.  Sam began reflectively to undo the flaps of the sledge.

“Guess we’d better camp here,” said he.  “It’s getting pretty late and we’re due for one hell of a tramp to-morrow.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Some time during the night May-may-gwan rejoined them.  Sam was awakened by the demonstration of the dogs, at first hostile, then friendly with recognition.  He leaped to his feet, startled at the apparition of a human figure.  Dick sat up alert at once.  The fire had almost died, but between the glow of its embers and the light of the aurora sifted through the trees they made her out.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” snarled Dick, and lay back again in his blankets, but in a moment resumed his sitting position.  “She made her choice,” he proffered vehemently, “make her stick to it!  Make her stick to it.  She can’t change her mind every other second like this, and we don’t need her!”

But Sam, piling dry wood on the fire, looked in her face.