"Jack!"
For this same Jack was her own, her discovery, her possession, who acknowledged her thrall and was proud of it.
But the green shutters over the one window remained fast, and the door tight closed.
"Jack?" There was a suggestion of incredulity in Split's voice.
"'I want you—come!' the Indian princess announced"
The whistles burst forth in a medley of throaty roars (it was five-o'clock "mining-time"), but the bird-like whistle of Jack was missing.
"Jack Cody!" Split stamped her high arctics in the snow.
The door was opened a little, and a round black head was cautiously thrust forth.
"I want you—come!" the Indian princess announced. "And get your sled."