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Updated: June 12, 2025
Lapierre righted the chair, and as he sank into it, Chloe, who had stared dumbfounded upon the scene, saw that little beads of sweat stood out sharply against the pallor of his bloodless brow. As from a great distance the words of the Louchoux girl fell upon her ears. She was speaking rapidly, and the finger which she pointed at Lapierre trembled violently. "You lied!" cried the girl.
The man looked up, and Chloe Elliston started back with an exclamation of angry amazement. The man was Bob MacNair! And Chloe noticed that the Louchoux girl, after one terrified glance into his face, fled incontinently to the kitchen. "You! You!" cried Chloe, groping for words. The man interrupted her gruffly. "This is no time to talk. Corporal Ripley has been shot.
Success seemed within his grasp. Then, suddenly, just as his fingers were about to close upon the prize the prize that meant to him life and plenty, instead of death the Louchoux girl, a passing folly of a bygone day, had suddenly risen up and confronted him and he knew that his cause was lost.
The following morning they had proceeded but a short distance upon the back-trail when they were met by a searching party from the school. The return was made without incident, and Chloe, who had taken a great fancy to the Louchoux girl, immediately established her as a member of her own household.
Born to the snow-trail, the Louchoux girl made good time. During the month she had spent at Chloe's school she had for the first time in her life been sufficiently clothed and fed, and now with the young muscles of her body well nourished and in the pink of condition she fairly flew over the trail. Hour after hour she kept up the pace without halting.
With a cry to his Indians to follow and to bring the Louchoux girl, MacNair threw himself belly-wise onto his sled, gave voice to a weird cry as his dogs shot out across the white snow-level of Snare Lake, and headed south-ward toward the Yellow Knife. He laughed aloud as he glanced over the back-trail and noted that half of his Indians were already following. He had chosen that last cry well.
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