At first Brent could see nothing but the distant glow of the brush fires, then from the direction of the cabin they had just left a tongue of flame shot upward through the darkness. There were more shots, and the flames widened and leaped higher.
"They're piling brush against the cabin," cried Brent. "They think they'll burn us out. Come on, we haven't a minute to lose, for when Claw learns that we are not in the cabin, he'll be on our trail."
At his own shack Brent tore the lashings from the sled, and began to rearrange the pack, adding supplies from his stores. Joe Pete stared in astonishment. "Come on here!" cried Brent, "Get to work! We're off for Dawson! And we've got to take grub enough to last till we hit Fort Norman."
"All day long you have been on the trail," cried the girl, "You are tired! Can't we stand them off here until you are rested?"
Brent shook his head: "You saw what happened at the other cabin," he answered. "And here it would be even worse. With the window and the door on the same side, they could burn us out in no time."
"But they will trail us—and we must travel heavy," she pointed to the loaded sled.
"We will take our chances in the open," said Brent grimly. "And if luck favors us we will get a long lead. The Indians may get too drunk to follow, or they may stop to loot my cabin, and even if they should overtake us, we can give a good account of ourselves. We have three rifles, and the Indians can't shoot, and Claw will not risk his own hide. Strike out straight for Fort Norman, Joe Pete. We will take turns breaking trail."
At daylight they camped upon the apex of a high ridge that commanded a six or seven mile sweep of the back-trail, and all three noted with relief that the stiff wind had filled their trail with the shifting snow. All through the night they had avoided the
timbered swamps and the patches of scrub both for the purpose of allowing the wind full sweep at their trail, and also to force their pursuers to expose themselves to the open. It was decided that until danger of pursuit was past they would travel only at night and thus eliminate in so far as possible, the danger of a surprise attack.
Because the men had been on the trail almost constantly for twenty-four hours, Snowdrift insisted upon standing first watch, and as Brent unrolled his blankets, he removed the moss-bag from his shoulders and handed it to the girl. Both he and Joe Pete were asleep the instant they hit the blankets, and for a long time Snowdrift sat with the moss-bag hugged close, and her eyes fixed upon the long sweep of back-trail. At length she thrust her hand into the bag and withdrew the packet, secure in its waterproof wrapping. Over and over she turned it in her hand as she speculated, woman like, upon its contents. Time and again she essayed to untie the thong that bound it but each time her fingers were stilled before the knot was undone.