“What’s that?” Sandy asked wonderingly.
“That you wake me up in three hours’ time. A sort of compromise, you see. In that way we’ll both get a little rest.”
“I’ll accept your terms,” said Sandy with great solemnity.
A search in the cupboard behind the fireplace was rewarded by the discovery of a small container, full of tea, sugar in an earthen jar, and a stack of doubtful-looking bannock, piled high on a granite plate. A kettle was soon simmering over the fire.
When they had eaten, Richardson arose and, walking over, inquired if any of the prisoners wanted refreshments. La Qua spurned the offer with a hair-burning oath. The others were more tractable. Yes, they were hungry. They would consider it a great favor if monsieur would do as he said.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the policeman unbound the arms of the three men, while Sandy brought tea and bannock. Later, he even permitted one of the half-breeds to smoke. Then he bound them up again.
Long before the coming of daylight, the party started back on the trail to Wandley’s. Arriving there without incident, four hours later, Sandy and Richardson were considerably startled when the door opened and a stalky, well-knit figure emerged.
“As I live,” shouted Sandy, “Malemute Slade! Where did you come from?”
They shook hands with the police scout, beaming over the good fortune that had brought them together.
“Yeh, Sandy, I kind o’ thought it was about time to come mushin’ in. Been up in the foothills fer nearly three weeks. But by the looks o’ it, I’m two days late. Wished I’d been here when that Nitchie took his shot at Pearly.”