Chapter XLVII: The Snow-Burner Pays

"And now the Snow-Burner has his gold. He has robbed the great Iron Hair in his own camp. Great is the Snow-Burner! Now he has the gold which he longed for. Now he is rich. The white men will bow down to him. Great is the Snow-Burner!"

Tillie crouched beside Reivers as, an hour later, he stood on the edge of the Dead Lands, and triumphantly crooned the saga of his success. The gold belt of Shanty Moir hung heavily over his shoulder, its great weight constantly reminding him of the fortune that it contained. The dogs were held in leash, eager to be quit of the harsh rock-chasms through which they had just travelled, and to strike their lope on a trail over the open country beyond.

MacGregor sat wearily on one side of the sledge. The exertions and excitement of the afternoon had exhausted him in his weakened condition. He sat slumped together, only half conscious of what was going on. In a moment he would be sound asleep.

And Reivers had the gold. He had succeeded. He had the gold, and he had a supply of food and a strong, fresh team of dogs eager for the trail. All that was necessary was to turn the dogs toward the south. Two, three, four days' travelling and he would strike the railroad. And the railroad ran to tide-water, and on the water steamboats would carry him away to the world he had planned to return to.

It was very simple, as simple as had been Tillie's scheme for getting rid of Moir. But he couldn't do it. He didn't want to do it. He wanted to do just one thing now, above all others, and that was what he set out to do.

He stood down and strapped the belt of gold around MacGregor's middle. MacGregor was sound asleep now, so he placed him on the sledge and bound him carefully in place. Tillie's chant died down in astonishment.

"We take the old one with us?" she asked.

"We do," said Reivers. "Hi-yah! Together there! Mush, mush up!"

To Tillie's joy he turned the dogs to the northwest, in the direction of the camp of her people. The Snow-Burner was lost to her; she knew that, when he had refused her help with Shanty Moir; but it was something to have him come back to the camp.

Reivers, driving hard and straight all night, brought his team up the river-bed to Tillie's camp in the morning. MacGregor was out of his head by then, and for the day they stopped to rest and feed. Reivers sat in the big tepee alone with MacGregor and fed him soft food which the old squaws had prepared. In the evening he again tied the old man and the belt of gold to the sledge and hitched up the dogs. Tillie had read her doom in his eyes, but nevertheless she came out to the sledge prepared to follow.

"You do not come any farther," said Reivers as he picked up the dog-whip.

Tillie nodded.

"I know. With gold the Snow-Burner can be a great man among the white women. Will the Snow-Burner come back--some time?"

"I will never come back."

"Ah-hh-hh!" Tillie's breath came fiercely. "So there is one white woman, then. If I had known----"

But Reivers was whipping and cursing the dogs and hurrying out of hearing.

MacGregor, clear-headed from the rest and food, but still weak, lifted his head and looked around as the sledge sped over the frozen snow.

"A new trail to me, lad," he said. "Where to, now?"

"On a fool's trail," laughed Reivers bitterly, and drove on.

Next morning MacGregor recognised the land ahead.

"Straight for Dumont's Camp we're heading, lad," he said. "Is it there we go?"

"Yes."

They came to Dumont's Camp as night fell. Reivers halted and made sundry enquiries.

"In a shack half ways between here and Fifty Mile," was the substance of the replies.

"Hi-yah! Mush, mush up!" and they were on the trail again.

At daylight the next day, from a rise in the land, he saw the shack that had been designated. Smoke was rising from the chimney, and a small figure that he knew even at that distance came out, filled a pail with snow and went in again.

Reivers stopped his dogs some distance from the shack. He threw MacGregor, gold belt and all, over his shoulder and went up to the door and knocked. For a second or two he smiled triumphantly as Hattie MacGregor opened the door and stood speechless at what she saw. Then he bowed low, laid his burden on the floor and went out without a word.

The dogs shuddered as they heard him laugh coming back to them.

"Hi-yah, mush!"

He drove them furiously into a gully that shut out the sight of the shack and sat down on the sledge. The dogs whined. It was the time for the morning meal and the master was making no preparations to eat.

"Still, you curs!" The whip fell mercilessly among them and they crouched in terror.

The time went by. The sun began to climb upward in the sky. Still the man sat on the sledge, making no preparations for the morning meal. The memory of the whip-cuts died in the dogs' minds under the growing clamour of hunger. They began to whine again.

"Still!" The master was on his feet, but the whip had fallen from his hand.

Down at the end of the gully a small figure was coming over the snow. She was running, and her red hair flowed back over her shoulders, and she laughed aloud as she came up to him. The pain was gone from Hattie MacGregor's lips, and her whole face beamed with a complete, unreasoning happiness, but the pride of her breed shone in her eyes even unto the end.

"Well, well!" sneered Reivers. "Aren't you afraid to come so near anything that pollutes the air?"

She laughed again. She did not speak. She only looked at him and smiled, and by the Eve-wisdom in the smile he knew that his secret was hers. He felt himself weakening, but the Snow-Burner died hard. He tried to laugh his old, cold laugh, but the ice had been thawed in it.

"What do you want?" he sneered. "I'm not a good enough man for you. Why did you come out here?"

"Because I knew you would not go away again," she said, "and because now I know you are a good enough man for me."

"You red-haired trull!" He raised his hand to strike her.

She did not flinch; she merely smiled up at him confidently, contentedly. Suddenly she caught his clenched fist in her hands and kissed it. With a curse Reivers swung around on his dogs.

"Hi-yah! Mush, mush out of here!"

Out of the gully into the open he kicked and drove them. He did not look back. He knew that she was following.

She followed patiently. She knew that there was nothing else for her to do. She had known it the first day she had looked into his eyes. He was her man, and she must follow him.

So she trudged on behind her man as he forced the tired dogs to move. She smiled as she walked, and the wisdom of Eve was in her smile. She had reason to smile, for the Snow-Burner was driving straight toward the little shack.

THE END

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