And then, without letting her hands touch him, she was gone.  Swiftly she ran to Slim Buck’s tepee, and entered, and very soon she came out again with Slim Buck beside her.  Jolly Roger did not move, but watched as Yellow Bird and her husband went down to the edge of the lake, and stood there, waiting for the strange canoe to pass—­or come in.  It was approaching.  Slowly it came up, an indistinct shadow at first, but growing clearer, until at last he could see the silhouette of it against the star-silvered water beyond.  There were two people in it.  Before the canoe reached the shore Slim Buck stood out knee-deep in the water and hailed it.

A voice answered.  And at the sound of that voice McKay dropped like a shot beside Peter, and Peter’s lips curled up, and he snarled.  His master’s hand warned him, and together they slipped back into the shadows, and from under a piece of canvas Jolly Roger dragged forth his pack, and quietly strapped it over his shoulders while he waited and listened.

And then, as he heard the voice again, he grinned, and chuckled softly.

“It’s Cassidy, Pied-Bot!  We can’t lose that redheaded fox, can we?”

A good humored deviltry lay in his eyes, and Peter—­looking up—­ thought for a moment his master was laughing.  Then Jolly Roger made a megaphone of his hands, and called very clearly out into the night.

“Ho, Cassidy!  Is that you, Cassidy?”

Peter’s heart was choking him as he listened.  He sensed a terrific danger.  There was no sound at the edge of the lake.  There was no sound anywhere.  For a few moments a death-like stillness followed Jolly Roger’s words.

Then a voice came in answer, each word cutting the gloom with the decisive clearness of a bullet coming from a gun.

“Yes, this is Cassidy—­Corporal Terence Cassidy, of ‘M’ Division, Royal Northwest Mounted Police.  Is that you, McKay?”

“Yes, it’s me,” replied Jolly Roger.  “Does the wager still hold, Cassidy?”

“It holds.”

There was a shadowy movement on the beach.  The voice came again.

“Watch yourself, McKay.  If I see you I shall fire!”

With drawn gun Cassidy rushed toward the spot where Jolly Roger and Peter had stood.  It was empty now, except for the bit of old canvas.  Cassidy’s Indian came up and stood behind him, and for many minutes they listened for the crackling of brush.  Slim Buck joined them, and last came Yellow Bird, her dark eyes glowing like pools of fire in their excitement.  Cassidy looked at her, marveling at her beauty, and suspicious of something that was in her face.  He went back to the beach.  There he caught himself short, astonishment bringing a sharp exclamation from his lips.

His canoe and outfit were gone!

Out of the star-gloom behind him floated a soft ripple of laughter as Yellow Bird ran to her tepee.

And from the mist of water—­far out—­came a voice, the voice of Jolly Roger McKay.