Billy shrugged his shoulders. His voice was almost affable.

"Hate to tell you who was with me, Bucky," he laughed, "I came in late
last night, half dead, and found a half-breed camped here-- in that
silk tent. He was quite chummy-- mighty fine chap. Young fellow, too--
almost a kid. When I got up this morning--" Billy shrugged his
shoulders again and pointed to his empty pistol holster. "Everything
was gone-- dogs, sledge, extra tent, even my rifle and automatic. He
wasn't quite bad, though, for he left me my grub. He was a funny cuss,
too. Look at that!" He pointed to the bakneesh wreath that still hung
to the front of his tent. "`In honor of the living,' " he read, aloud,
"Just a sort of reminder, you know, that he might have hit me on the
head with a club if he'd wanted to." He came nearer to Bucky, and
said, good-naturedly: "I guess you've got me beat this time, Bucky.
Scottie Deane is pretty safe from me, wherever he is. I haven't even
got a gun!"

"He must have left a trail," remarked Bucky, eying him shrewdly.

"He did-- out there!"

As Bucky went to examine what was left of the trail Billy thanked
Heaven that Deane had placed Isobel on the sledge before he left camp.
There was nothing to betray her presence. Walker had unlaced their
outfit, and Billy was busy preparing a meal when Bucky returned. There
was a sneer on his lips.

"Didn't know you was that easy," he said. "Wonder why he didn't take
his tent! Pretty good tent, isn't it?"