It was still light enough for the girl to see, however; and she gasped as she watched Link scramble to his feet and lunge toward the axe.  Then the semi-darkness was rent by a flame streak that started from where Lawler stood, and the air of the cabin rocked with a deafening roar.  She saw Link go down in a heap, and before she could draw a breath another lancelike flame darted from the point where Lawler stood.  She saw Givens stagger; heard the heavy piece of cordwood thud to the floor; saw Givens plunge backward through the door to land in the big drift outside.

Then she huddled down into the bunk, covering her face with her hands, shuddering, cringing from the horror she had witnessed.

When she again opened her eyes the lamp had been lighted and the door closed.  For a long time she did not move, dreading to peer from the bunk, lest she see a thing that would remind her of the tragedy.

But when, after a while, she found courage to look, she saw Lawler standing near the fireplace, looking down into the flames, his back to her.

The axe, she noted, shuddering, was standing on the floor near the woodpile; and there was no sign of Link or Givens.

For a long time she was silent, watching Lawler, a dread wonder filling her.  And at last, when the continuing silence began to affect her with its horrible monotony, she said, quaveringly: 

“Did—­you—­Are they dead?”

“Yes,” said Lawler, gruffly; “I took them out back of the windbreak.”  He wheeled, to look straight at her, his gaze level and somber.

“I had to do it—­there was no other way.  I’m sorry you had to see it.”

That was all.  He did not speak to her again.  For a long time she watched him, but he did not change position—­standing there, tall, big, seeming to brood into the dancing flames that cast grotesque figures over the walls of the cabin.

CHAPTER XXI

CHANCE—­AND A MAN

Della must have slept, for when she again opened her eyes the light had been extinguished and a gray glow was coming through the north window.

Morning had come.  She gathered the bedclothes around her and sat up, glancing around the cabin for Lawler.  He must have gone out, for the heavy wooden bar had been removed from the door—­it was standing in a corner.  She suspected Lawler had gone out to care for the horses, and she hurriedly got out of the bunk, ran to the door and barred it, and began to dress.

A fire roared in the fireplace, and it was warm in the cabin.  But she noted, with an interest that was almost calm, that the storm still raged as furiously as the night before.  There was this difference.  Last night the wind had been driven against the cabin in fitful blasts, for the most part; now to her ears there came a ceaseless, droning hum with no intervals of silence between—­a steady, vicious, incessant rushing roar that made her fear the cabin walls could not long resist it.