With the quickness and skill which he had acquired under Sergeant Moody he secured the guard’s wrists with one of the coffin box straps, and gagged him with the same cloth that had been used upon himself.  He had observed that his prisoner carried the key to the padlocked cabin in one of his coat pockets, and after possessing himself of this he made him seat himself in the deep shadow, strapped his ankles, and then unlocked the prison door.

There was a light inside, and from beyond this the white faces of the man and the woman stared at him as he entered.  The man was leaning back in his cot, and Philip knew that the wife had risen suddenly, for one arm was still encircling his shoulders, and a hand was resting on his cheek as if she had been stroking it caressingly when he interrupted them.  Her beautiful, startled eyes gazed at him half defiantly now.

He advanced into the light, took off his hat, and smiled.

With a cry Thorpe’s wife sprang to her feet.

“Sh-h-h-h-h!” warned Philip, raising a hand and pointing to the door behind them.

Thorpe had risen.  Without a word Philip advanced and held out his hand.  Only half understanding, the prisoner reached forth his own.  As, for an instant, the two men stood in this position, one smiling, the other transfixed with wonder, there came a stifled, sobbing cry from behind.  Philip turned.  The woman stood in the lamp glow, her arms reaching out to him—­to both—­and never, not even at Lac Bain, had he seen a woman more beautiful than Thorpe’s wife at that moment.

As if nothing had happened, he went to the table, where there was a pen and ink and a pad of paper.

“Perhaps your wife hasn’t told you everything that has happened to-night, Thorpe,” he said.  “If she hasn’t, she will—­soon.  Now, listen!”

He had pulled a small book from an inner pocket and was writing.

“My name is Steele, Philip Steele, of the Royal Mounted.  Down in Chicago I’ve got a father, Philip Egbert Steele, a banker, who’s worth half a dozen millions or so.  You’re going down to him as fast as dog-sledge and train can carry you, and you’ll give him this note.  It says that your name is Johnson, and that for my sake he’s going to put you on your feet, so that it is going to be pretty blamed comfortable for yourself—­and the noblest little woman I’ve ever met.  Do you understand, Thorpe?”

He looked up.  Thorpe’s wife had gone to her husband.  She stood now, half in his arms, and looking at him; as they were, they reminded him of a couple who had played the finale in a drama which he had seen a year before.

“There is one favor which you must do me, Thorpe,” he went on.  “At home I am rich.  Up here I’m only Phil Steele, of the Royal Mounted.  I’m telling you so that you won’t think that I’m stripping myself when I make you take this.  It’s a little ready cash, and a check for a thousand dollars.  Some day, if you want to, you can pay it back.  Now hustle up and get on your clothes.  I imagine that your friends are somewhere near—­with the sledge that brought me up from Le Pas.  Tomorrow, of course, I shall be compelled to take up the pursuit.  But if you hurry I don’t believe that I shall catch you.”