"DON'T TOUCH HIM! DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM!"
Gordon overslept. His plan had been to reach Kusiak at the end of a long day's travel, but that had meant getting on the trail with the first gleam of light. When he opened his eyes Mrs. Olson was calling him to rise.
He dressed and stepped out into the cold, crisp morning. From the hill crotch the sun was already pouring down a great, fanlike shaft of light across the snow vista. Swiftwater Pete passed behind him on his way to the stable and called a cheerful good-morning in his direction.
Mrs. Olson had put the stove outside the tent and Gordon lifted it to the spot where they did the cooking.
"Good-morning, neighbor," he called to Sheba. "Sleep well?"
The little rustling sounds within the tent ceased. A face appeared in the doorway, the flaps drawn discreetly close beneath the chin.
"Never better. Is my breakfast ready yet?"
"Come and help me make it. Mrs. Olson is waiting on Holt."
"When I'm dressed." The smiling face disappeared. "Dublin Bay" sounded in her fresh young voice from the tent. Gordon joined in the song as he lit the fire and sliced bacon from a frozen slab of it.