“Alone!”

“Yes, alone,” nodded Philip.  “With the exception of Celie Armin.  I brought her back to her father.  A fellow named Blake is back there a little way with Upi’s tribe.  We beat them out, but I’m figuring it won’t be long before they show up.”

The grin was fixed in Olaf’s face again.

“Lord bless us, but it’s funny,” he grunted.  “They’re coming on the next train, so to speak, and right over in that neck of woods is the other half of Upi’s tribe chasing their short legs off to get me.  And the comical part of it is you’re alone!” His eyes were fixed suddenly on the revolver.  “Ammunition?” he demanded eagerly.  “And—­grub?”

“Thirty or forty rounds of rifle, a dozen Colt, and plenty of meat—­”

“Then into the cabin, and the dogs with us,” almost shouted the Swede.

From the edge of the forest came the report of a rifle and over their heads went the humming drone of a bullet.

They were back at the cabin in a dozen seconds, tugging at the dogs.  It cost an effort to get them through the door, with the sledge after them.  Half a dozen shots came from the forest.  A bullet spattered against the log wall, found a crevice, and something metallic jingled inside.  As Olaf swung the door shut and dropped the wooden bar in place Philip turned for a moment toward Celie.  She went to him, her eyes shining in the semi-gloom of the cabin, and put her arms up about his shoulders.  The Swede, looking on, stood transfixed, and the white-bearded Armin stared incredulously.  On her tip-toes Celie kissed Philip, and then turning with her arms still about him said something to the older man that brought an audible gasp from Olaf.  In another moment she had slipped away from Philip and back to her father.  The Swede was flattening his face against a two inch crevice between the logs when Philip went to his side.

“What did she say, Olaf?” he entreated.

“That she’s going to marry you if we ever get out of this hell of a fix we’re in,” grunted Olaf.  “Pretty lucky dog, I say, if it’s true.  Imagine Celie Armin marrying a dub like you!  But it will never happen.  If you don’t believe it fill your eyes with that out there!”

Philip glued his eyes to the long crevice between the logs and found the forest and the little finger of plain between straight in his vision.  The edge of the timber was alive with men.  There must have been half a hundred of them, and they were making no effort to conceal themselves.  For the first time Olaf began to give him an understanding of the situation.

“This is the fortieth day we’ve held them off,” he said, in the quick-cut, business-like voice he might have used in rendering a report to a superior.  “Eighty cartridges to begin with and a month’s ration of grub for two.  All but the three last cartridges went day before yesterday.  Yesterday everything quiet.  On the edge of starvation this morning when I went out on scout duty and to take a chance at game.  Surprised a couple of them carrying meat and had a tall fight.  Others hove into action and I had to use two of my cartridges.  One left—­and they’re showing themselves because they know we don’t dare to use ammunition at long range.  My caliber is thirty-five.  What’s yours?”