building a fire!"

Not more than a third of a mile away a point of yellow flame flared up in
the night.

"Give me the revolver, Peter."

Peter gave it to her without a word. She went to Uppy, and at the touch
of her foot he was out of his sleeping-bag, his moon-face staring at her.
She pointed back to the fire. Her face was dead white. The revolver was
pointed straight at Uppy's heart.

"If they come up with us, Uppy--you die!"

The Eskimo's narrow eyes widened. There was murder in this white woman's
face, in the steadiness of her hand, and in her voice. If they came up
with them--he would die! Swiftly he gathered up his sleeping-bag and
placed it on the sledge. Then he roused the dogs, tangled in their
traces. They rose to their feet, sleepy and ill-humored. One of them
snapped at his hand. Another snarled viciously as he untwisted a trace.
Then one of the yawning brutes caught the new smell in the air, the smell
that Wapi had gathered when it was a mile farther off. He sniffed. He sat
back on his haunches and sent forth a yelping howl to his comrades in the
other team. In ten seconds the other five were howling with him, and
scarcely had the tumult burst from their throats when there came a
response from the fire half a mile away.

"My God!" gasped Peter, under his breath.

Dolores sprang to the gee-bar, and Uppy lashed his long whip until it