With a dry sob, Snowdrift turned to Brent: "We must go!" she faltered, hurriedly, "I can do nothing with the Indians. I tried to reach the hooch to destroy it, but they crowded me away. He has lied to them—won them completely over by the promise of more hooch. He told them he has plenty of hooch cached in the scrub. Already they have sent runners to bring him back, and when he comes," the girl paused and shuddered "They will do anything he tells them to—for hooch, and you know what that will be—come, we must go while we have time!"
"Can't we stay and fight him?" cried Brent, "Surely some of the Indians will be with us."
"No—only a few of the squaws—and they would be no good. No, we must go before they bring him back! My sled is beside the door. Hurry and load it with supplies while I harness the dogs." As she talked, the girl's hands searched beneath the blankets upon which lay the body of the squaw and with a low cry she drew forth the moss-bag which she handed to Brent. "Take it," she said, "and do not trust it to the sled. We have no time to look into it now—but that little bag contains the secret of my life——"
"And I will guard it with my own!" cried Brent, as he took the bag from her hand. "Hurry, now
and harness the dogs. I'll throw in some grub and blankets and we will finish the outfit at my cabin where we'll pick up Joe Pete."
While Brent worked at the lashings of the sled pack, Snowdrift slipped silently into the cabin and, crossing to the bunk, bent low over the still form of the squaw: "Good-by, Wananebish," she sobbed, as she pressed her lips to the wrinkled forehead, "I don't know what you have done—nor why you did it—but, I forgive you." She turned to see Brent examining the two heavy crotches that were fixed, one on either side of the doorway on the inside. "That is our lock," explained the girl. "See, there is the bar that goes across the door, like the bar at the post at Fort Norman. Wananebish made it. And every night when we were inside she placed the bar in the crotches and no one could have got in without smashing the door to pieces. Ever since I returned from the mission, Wananebish has feared someone, and now I know it was Claw."
"If we could only drop the bar from the outside," mused Brent, "Maybe we could gain a lot of time. I know Claw, and when he finds that he has all the Indians with him, and that we are only two, he is not going to give you up without a struggle. By George!" he exclaimed, suddenly, "I believe I can do it!" He motioned the girl outside, and slipped the bar into the crotch at the hinge side of the door, then driving a knife upon the inside, he rested the bar upon it, and stepping outside, banged the door
shut. The knife held, and opening the door, he loosened the blade a little and tried again. This time the banging of the door jarred the knife loose. It fell to the floor, and the heavy bar dropped into place and the man smiled with satisfaction as he threw his weight against the door. "That will keep them busy for a while," he said, "They'll think we're in there and they know we're armed, so they won't be any too anxious to mix things up at close quarters."
Swiftly the dogs flew up the well packed trail toward Brent's cabin. The night was dark, and the Indians were fighting over the rum cask that Claw had abandoned. As they hurried down the river, the two cast more than one glance over their shoulders toward the cabin where the Indians milled about in the firelight.
At the first bend of the river, they paused and looked back. Shots were being fired in scattering volleys, and suddenly Snowdrift grasped Brent's arm: "Look!" she cried, "At our cabin!"