LITMIR.BIZ

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damnable!” gritted Dix.

      “He mustn’t find you talking with me,” hurriedly whispered Dessel, half rising. “I didn’t suspect the truth till too late. You must take my niece out to the nearest settlement.”

      “She worries about you more than about herself,” said Dix.

      “She doesn’t realize the danger,” muttered Dessel. “Cumber will not go out for provisions. Once the snow comes and buries this part of the world—it means starvation!”

      “I leave tomorrow to bring help,”

      “No, no,” huskily protested Dessel. “I shall not last till you return. Once I’m gone no knowing what insane freak old Cumber will take. You must stay till the end and somehow manage to take her with you. Promise me as you’re a man you’ll stand by her.”

      “By all that’s good in the world I promise,” solemnly assured Dix.

      “You’ve made it easier for me,” sighed Dessel, closing his eyes. “You must get a good start with the boat while Cumber sleeps. Pass through Little Purgatory. This rain will flood all the swamps south of it. You can go for miles and miles in the boat. It’ll be a hard rub, a good seventy-five miles if you go south. If you strike west to hit the traveled trail between Caribou Lake and Clear River, it means fifty miles and you can’t use the boats except in crossing the lake. I fear Cumber would follow you with the dogs if you took that course.”

      “She shall get through safely. If you could hold out for a while—”

      “Sh-h-h!” cautioned Dessel, his eyes flying open. “Leave me. Quick!”

      Dix glided back to the living-room and had scarcely seated himself before the blaze than the door opened and Cumber entered. He slowly advanced to the fire, his frowning gaze never leaving the newcomer’s pale face. “What do you want here?” was his abrupt query.

      “Food, rest. I lost my way,” replied Dix, fearful lest the madman spring upon him.

      The deep set eyes leered at him mockingly. “You were pretty near this place before losing your way. You were aiming in this direction.”

      Dix patiently explained his experience in wandering from the Caribou trail, but even as he spoke he knew old Cumber’s thoughts were not following the recital. He was wandering among suspicions, dallying with half-formed plans, cunningly arranging plots, all of which were hostile and deadly to the stranger. As Dix concluded, Cumber wheeled and glared at the candle in the sick room. “Who took that in there?” he demanded.

      “The young lady.”

      He snarled in his thick beard, sprang into the room and blew out the candle. On returning to the living-room he all but closed Dessel’s door. Then his mood lighted up with some fierce joviality which caused him to rub his hairy hands and chuckle deep in his throat. Dix decided it was the baying of the dogs, for their master was cocking his head as though weighing the individual notes and appraising the total effect.

      “Brave, brave voices,” he gleefully cried. “And they are hungry.”

      “Why do you have them here?” boldly asked Dix.

      Cumber stealthily gave him the tail of his eye and readily explained, “To haul the sled in winter. They’ll make a brave team.”

      “Great scheme,” endorsed Dix. “And you made the sled?”

      To his surprise Cumber motioned him to follow and led the way through the kitchen, where the girl was busy with coffee making. Opening a door to a shed Cumber proudly pointed. Sure enough he had a sled, a long, narrow affair, homemade yet serviceable and built along the lines of the travois sled of the woodsmen. Only unlike the travois, it was boxed in like a sleigh, the back being unusually high.

      “One could ride very comfortably in that,” approved Dix, noting how the runners had been shod with iron.

      “Aye. And ride far,” muttered Cumber, turning away.

      “There is room for but one,” added Dix.

      “Only one,” agreed Cumber, snapping his finger joints excitedly. “It will travel smoothly. Nothing at all for my pets to haul. I used the hoops of the kerosene barrel on the runners.”

      “You may have your supper now, Mr. Dix,” the girl called out with a touch of nervousness in her voice. “Cumber, your supper is by the stove.”

      As Dix entered the kitchen she passed into the living-room with a tray of food and a pot of coffee. He admired her courage in holding the old man to his plane of servant and wondered if she sensed his status, that of master. Cumber bestowed a flaming look upon them, hesitated for a moment, then rushed to the small table and fell to eating like some ferocious, half-starved animal.

      * * * *

      Dix, faint for need of food, lost no time in assailing the tray. From his place by the fireplace he could observe Cumber snapping and bolting his meat and bread. And as he watched him he likened him to one of the howling brutes outside. The girl passed to her uncle’s room, carrying some steaming drink.

      When she returned Dix asked, “Do you never eat?”

      “Not now,” she murmured. “By and by, perhaps. He is worse tonight.”

      “Miss Dessel, you must be brave. He is a very sick man. He is living on borrowed time. Even were he in town no physician could help him.”

      Tears welled to her eyes and her chin quivered although she fought bravely to control her emotion. To divert her thoughts Dix asked, “What is the meaning of the sled?”

      “One of his fancies. When in his black moods he rambles much about going far away to a strange country.”

      “Apparently he plans to go alone.”

      “Possibly. Yet he has skates ready to use besides the sled. He was sharpening them only a few days ago. One could ride in the sled, one could skate—” She paused with a glimmer of horror in her eyes, and whispered, “Why, he must be planning to take me!”

      “Good heavens, child,” he whispered. “Haven’t you given any thought to the future?”

      “I suppose so. But not much,” was the spiritless reply. “It has worried uncle, though. He just told me to talk with you. You start back tomorrow?”

      “I remain here,” he firmly replied. “It would be a crime to desert you. It is your uncle’s wish that I stay.”

      There was no doubting the relief and sense of security his words had given her; her face mirrored it and her eyes thanked him warmly. “Now I shall feel safe,” she murmured.

      Both were silent till he had finished his meal, when he said, “Listen to the rain.”

      The wind was driving it in sheets against the small window. The dogs had fled to the refuge of the hovel. “If this keeps up the whole country will be flooded.” He added, “So much the better for us.”

      She knew he was planning to use the boat. It seemed wrong to concert their own safety while no early aid could benefit her uncle; yet reason and common sense assured her it was right. She rose and passed to the window and blinked into the blackness. Her little startled exclamation brought him to her side to peer over her shoulder. A light was mistily bobbing along the shore.

      “What is he doing?” she puzzled, as, in a lull of the storm, they heard the sound of blows and the breaking of timbers.

      He stepped to the door and opened it a trifle. When he returned to her his face was pinched and haggard. “He’s destroyed the boat,” he informed.

      She heard him in stony silence, the hand clutching the simple window curtain straining till the muslin parted in shreds. “We must know the worst,” he hoarsely continued. “Unless we can escape to high ground this flood will maroon us.”

      “We’re surrounded by the swamp,”

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