man in the bow and the boy to glance swiftly into the officer’s face. They noted a slight narrowing of grey eyes and a perceptible hardening of the muscles of the jaw.
“Drop that gun!” The words sounded in the same quiet tone, yet in them was something of deadly import—the voice was the voice of authority. And, without a word, the man of the North returned the gun to its holster and picked up his paddle.
They redoubled their efforts, but try as they would, they found it impossible to gain on the scow which the men were already poling in toward the landing. It was plainly evident that unless something happened, and happened soon, Mr. Squigg would file his claim.
Suddenly Connie ceased bailing and gazed intently toward the scow. He jerked the sodden mitten from his hand, raised his fingers to his lips, and a loud, peculiar whistle shrilled across the ice-field. Seconds passed and then, amidships of the scow, heads appeared—tawny, grizzled heads, with long, sharp muzzles, and sharp ears cocked to catch the sound. Again the whistle sounded across the bobbing cakes and the commotion in the
