“You did it on purpose?” Shorty demanded.

“I did it to give the old-timers a chance.”  She laughed mockingly.  The men grinned at each other and finally joined her.  “I’d lay you across my knee an’ give you a wallopin’, if women folk wasn’t so scarce in this country,” Shorty assured her.

“Your father didn’t sprain a tendon, but waited till we were out of sight and then went on?” Smoke asked.

She nodded.

“And you were the decoy?”

Again she nodded, and this time Smoke’s laughter rang out clear and true.  It was the spontaneous laughter of a frankly beaten man.

“Why don’t you get angry with me?” she queried ruefully.  “Or—­or wallop me?”

“Well, we might as well be starting back,” Shorty urged.  “My feet’s gettin’ cold standin’ here.”

Smoke shook his head.  “That would mean four hours lost.  We must be eight miles up this creek now, and from the look ahead Norway is making a long swing south.  We’ll follow it, then cross over the divide somehow, and tap Squaw Creek somewhere above Discovery.”  He looked at Joy.  “Won’t you come along with us?  I told your father we’d look after you.”

“I—­” She hesitated.  “I think I shall, if you don’t mind.”  She was looking straight at him, and her face was no longer defiant and mocking.  “Really, Mr. Smoke, you make me almost sorry for what I have done.  But somebody had to save the old-timers.”

“It strikes me that stampeding is at best a sporting proposition.”

“And it strikes me you two are very game about it,” she went on, then added with the shadow of a sigh:  “What a pity you are not old-timers!”

For two hours more they kept to the frozen creek-bed of Norway, then turned into a narrow and rugged tributary that flowed from the south.  At midday they began the ascent of the divide itself.  Behind them, looking down and back, they could see the long line of stampeders breaking up.  Here and there, in scores of places, thin smoke-columns advertised the making of camps.

As for themselves, the going was hard.  They wallowed through snow to their waists, and were compelled to stop every few yards to breathe.  Shorty was the first to call a halt.

“We been hittin’ the trail for over twelve hours,” he said.  “Smoke, I’m plum willin’ to say I’m good an’ tired.  An’ so are you.  An’ I’m free to shout that I can sure hang on to this here pasear like a starvin’ Indian to a hunk of bear-meat.  But this poor girl here can’t keep her legs no time if she don’t get something in her stomach.  Here’s where we build a fire.  What d’ye say?”

So quickly, so deftly and methodically, did they go about making a temporary camp, that Joy, watching with jealous eyes, admitted to herself that the old-timers could not do it better.  Spruce boughs, with a spread blanket on top, gave a foundation for rest and cooking operations.  But they kept away from the heat of the fire until noses and cheeks had been rubbed cruelly.