3- / 
 
 ITT. 
 
 bjjpoks are "keys 
 
 ^5 ) to wisdom s treasure; 
 
 ^I/Boohs are paths 
 
 that upward lead; 
 Books are dates 
 
 to lands oP pleasure; 
 Books are friends, 
 Come, let us read. 
 
 THIS 5OO1C 5ELONGSTO 
 
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 "
 
 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS
 
 " They ve done it," groaned Stephen Mallabee, as he recovered 
 from the shock and arose to his feet. 
 
 FRONTISPIECE. See Page 266.
 
 A SIREN OF THE 
 SNOWS 
 
 BY 
 
 STANLEY SHAW 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATION BY 
 
 DOUGLAS DUER 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 1915
 
 Copyright, 1915, 
 Br LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Published March, 1915 
 
 printers 
 8. J. PARKHILL <fe Co., BOSTON, U.S.A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I. THE CAMP ON THE LITTLE BABOS . . 1 
 
 II. CASE BM432 17 
 
 III. THE EYES AND TEETH OF SIN PETAIR . 29 
 
 IV. A TRUCE FOR THE NIGHT .... 43 
 V. WHAT CREWLY DISCOVERED ... 60 
 
 VI. THE CAJOLING OF DAN THE SWEDE . 68 
 
 VII. HATE OF THE WOLF 80 
 
 VIII. THE OLD Fox UNBENDS . . . . 97 
 
 IX. ON DEAD MAN S TRAIL . . . .115 
 
 X. FIGHTING THE BLIZZARD .... 131 
 
 XI. INTO THE UNKNOWN 148 
 
 XII. NEWS FROM THE NORTH . . . .162 
 
 XIII. BLACK DEVIL S BED 173 
 
 XIV. THE GAUNT, GRAY MAN . . . .187 
 XV. AN ADVENTURE IN THE NIGHT . . 205 
 
 XVI. A DISCOVERY! 217 
 
 XVII. CRAGGMORIE 226 
 
 XVIII. THE WINKING LIGHTS 238 
 
 XIX. GREEK MEETS GREEK 252 
 
 XX. ENGULFING WATERS 262 
 
 XXI. THE FROZEN MAN 276 
 
 XXII. THE MESSAGE 290 
 
 XXIII. VANISHING HOPES 308 
 
 XXIV. THE LIGHT O LOVE 322
 
 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 i 
 
 F 
 
 THE CAMP ON THE LITTLE BABOS 
 
 OR about the tenth time that afternoon Jensen 
 drew the note from his pocket and reread it : 
 
 " You will immediately proceed to the camp on the Little 
 Babes, as per previous instructions, and await a messenger 
 from the North. This note will identify you." 
 
 That was all: as curt and incisive as the crack of 
 a whip; probably quite as fruitful of meaning to 
 some one as the Constitution of the United States; 
 yet almost as blank to Jensen as though the crumpled 
 bit of fine, crinkly paper were not marked with inky 
 tracings expected to convey an actual message. 
 
 It was written on the most expensive variety of 
 parchment paper with thick black ink. Jensen re 
 membered to have seen such dense ink employed by 
 artists, and he early discovered that this ink was 
 waterproof; but never before had he known ink so 
 thick to be used for writing purposes ; it was almost 
 as if each sentence had been heavily embossed.
 
 2 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Jensen threw the sheet down on the rough, pine 
 shelf-table beneath the window and gazed specula- 
 tively out across the river. 
 
 To the north lay Ungava and the vast Arctic soli 
 tudes. From there who was coming ? Was it white 
 man or Esquimau, half-breed, or what? Would he 
 be armed; would he be frankly antagonistic, or dis 
 posed to friendship? And what would he bring? 
 That, after all, was the most important question to 
 Jensen; the others were matters of personal equa 
 tion, and he felt qualified to handle them properly 
 when they came to the surface. But on just what 
 this " messenger from the ISTorth " would bring 
 hinged the success or failure of Jensen s heart-break 
 ing journey into this land of silence, solitude, and 
 starvation, that had finally brought him to this 
 rough, but comfortable, three-room cabin on the edge 
 of the Little Babos Eiver. 
 
 It had been a heart-breaking journey ; but at almost 
 every mile of the way Jensen had found new cause 
 for wonder. All along the three hundred odd miles 
 from Lake Lucann to this camp on the Little Babos, 
 the trail had been almost unmistakable; it could 
 easily have been followed by a lesser woodsman than 
 Alan Jensen; and at reasonable intervals he had 
 found comfortable camps, fuel, and food, all open to
 
 CAMP ON LITTLE BABOS 3 
 
 the traveler. None of the previous halting places had 
 been quite so well fitted out as this one at Little 
 Babos ; yet they were all astonishingly elaborate for 
 this section of the country and indicated that this 
 trail was one frequently traversed, in season, at 
 least. Yet not a solitary white man had Jensen 
 met on all his journey. That was strangest of all. 
 
 Here and there he had run into breed trappers; 
 but as he came within their sight, they had fled from 
 him as though he were the plague. Once he had 
 stumbled upon a camp of wandering Crees, and 
 though he knew well enough the Indians understood 
 his questions, they refused to give him a word of in 
 formation and vanished like wraiths in the wind the 
 moment he fell asleep by the fire. It was all very 
 puzzling and very unusual ; yet Jensen felt that per 
 haps this very condition of things had alone made it 
 possible for him to penetrate so far north along what 
 he had come to call in his own mind " the blank trail," 
 for blank it was to him with its myriad puzzling 
 features. 
 
 Alan Jensen was a somewhat new and, so far, 
 rather unimportant cog in that vast machinery of 
 precautionary measures the United States Govern 
 ment maintains to guard the permanence of its peace, 
 the lives of its chief executives, and the purity of its
 
 4 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 coinage. His earliest dreams had leaned toward the 
 diplomatic service; leadership in college athletics had 
 dispelled the idea of that inactive life, and close com 
 panionship with the son of Chief Hilkie of the 
 Secret Service had given birth to a longing to enter 
 the latter profession. Chief Hilkie had tried to dis 
 suade him by describing the hardships, the slowness 
 of promotion, and the lonely, ascetic existence with 
 out close friends necessarily led by its men; but it 
 was impossible to dampen Jensen s boyish enthusi 
 asm, and he entered the Secret Service very soon 
 after his graduation. 
 
 The Secret Service is indeed a lonely life, in which 
 a man can make few intimate friends ; in fact, he can 
 seldom make intimates of his co-workers and, very 
 likely, does not know by sight half a dozen other 
 Secret Service operatives, either male or female. 
 There is on record a case where one agent even trailed 
 a suspected person half way across the continent and 
 back before he discovered that his quarry was another 
 employee of the Service working on the same case. 
 Though sometimes leading to unimportant errors 
 such a condition is necessary. 
 
 For a time Jensen s splendid physique had been 
 the cause of his appointment as personal bodyguard 
 to the nation s chief executive. Now he, like nearly
 
 CAMP ON LITTLE BABOS 5 
 
 every other unit in the great Service, was working on 
 one of the most puzzling cases that ever came to the 
 surface, the one that is cryptically set down in the 
 government records as " Case BM432." 
 
 As Jensen gazed out from the cabin window across 
 the Little Babos, he saw thin, filmy cloud racks rac 
 ing, high up, across the northern sky; lower down 
 were ugly gray mountains of heavier vapor that he 
 knew must be an early winter storm swiftly coming 
 his way. Was it driving before it that mysterious 
 " messenger from the North," he wondered. Unless 
 the wind changed, or he arrived soon, this messenger 
 would have a hard time of it beating out that stub 
 born monster of biting wind and freezing sleet. 
 
 As he watched the approaching storm from the 
 window, Jensen thought again what a reckless under 
 taking it had been to come alone into this forsaken 
 land, where winter locks everything man needs se 
 curely in her icy embrace for almost nine months of 
 the year. So far, severe weather had held off; yet 
 the mild season might close up without a moment s 
 warning, and then there would be no going back. It 
 was the well-furnished camps he had found along the 
 trail that had led him on ; these and the overmaster 
 ing ambition to accomplish something for the Service. 
 He was a recruit, and he had, in full, the recruit s
 
 6 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 desire to set the river on fire at the very beginning. 
 This ambition sometimes overcame his sounder com 
 mon sense and made him venture where a more sea 
 soned man would have considered matters the second 
 time. 
 
 Darkness was beginning to fall. Jensen threw 
 fresh logs on the fire and sat down to wait and muse, 
 as he had been waiting and musing for six days. He 
 had found the shack well stocked ; there was corn and 
 flour, both a bit weevilly from the summer heat, but 
 the weevils could easily be picked out. And there 
 was sugar, ham, bacon, and coffee ; the ham harbored 
 a few skippers; but the coffee was Yarguli at two- 
 fifty the pound wholesale when it can be obtained 
 at all, for it is very rare ! With that glorious drink 
 of the gods available, Jensen felt that a skipper more 
 or less in the ham mattered little. Certainly, who 
 ever stocked the shack knew what superb coffee was 
 and good tobacco, for Jensen had found a sixteen- 
 pound tin of real Louisiana Perique, than which 
 there is no stronger or sweeter weed grown on the 
 surface of this globe; he is indeed a man whose 
 physique can stand up under its powerful fumes. To 
 Jensen it made the lonely days in the Little Babos 
 camp almost enjoyable. 
 
 But there were no candles, no coal oil, no spirits ;
 
 CAMP ON LITTLE BABOS 7 
 
 nothing with which to make a light. Jensen puzzled 
 much over this odd circumstance. Plenty of wood, 
 cut and stacked; ample to eat for months; matches, 
 but no light. Why ? It was odd. 
 
 The colder air was beating down from the sky 
 heights now, shaking the cabin door; the sparks of 
 the fire raced up the chimney in a wilder whirl, 
 drawn by the fierce drafts above. Twice Jensen got 
 up and opened the door, thinking some one was ham 
 mering upon it with fists, only to find he had been 
 fooled by the wind. After six days of almost deadly 
 silence, with scarcely a leaf stirring, this unwonted 
 noise and movement was rather getting on his nerves ; 
 it made him feel peculiar, as if he were drawn to run 
 about and dance ; sing ; do anything to get in temper 
 with the wild wind. Several times he found himself 
 leaping up from his bench before the fire at the mere 
 sound of a dead tree crashing down outside. 
 
 This condition of nerves was unusual for a man of 
 Jensen s splendid physical structure; yet there were 
 several things that contributed to it. For one he 
 knew he had no right in the camp ; this was another 
 man s cabin that he had pre-empted. And there had 
 been the constant uncertainty for days of hourly ex 
 pecting the arrival of the "messenger from the 
 North." These things, together with an annoying
 
 8 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 slash he had given his left wrist with the axe while 
 cutting up firewood a few days previous, had irri 
 tated his nerves to an unusual degree. The injury 
 to his arm had failed to heal as it ought, had swelled 
 somewhat, and occasionally throbbed with pain. 
 
 He got up, filled his bulldog tenderly with the 
 precious curly, black product of St. James parish; 
 lit the pipe with a live coal from the fire, and felt 
 more calm as the sweet herb soothed his senses and 
 sent his thoughts wandering along pleasant back paths 
 while the storm raged outside. 
 
 Jensen had all but fallen into a state of half 
 dreamy dozing when he awoke with a start, every 
 sense alert, every splendid muscle tense. There was 
 some one pounding on the door now, he was certain 
 of it; and he could hear dogs barking outside. A 
 sense of relief came to him, a feeling of joy that a 
 conflict of wits, perhaps of physical strength, was 
 impending; for this must be the mysterious messen 
 ger from the North. Now things would start mov 
 ing, and it must be give and take ; he was glad. 
 
 Jensen got up from the bench before the fire with 
 a smile on his face. With steel tendons poised for 
 anything, prepared to strike or guard, as the need 
 called, he strode toward the door, drew back the 
 heavy bar, and threw it wide.
 
 CAMP ON LITTLE BABOS 9 
 
 " Whe-e-w ! But that fire looks damn comfort 
 ing. This is an early sizzler that s come tearing 
 down from the pole, but it can bite all right," 
 boomed a deep contralto voice, and Jensen nearly 
 dropped to his knees with amazement and the sud 
 den relaxation of his tense muscles. 
 
 No half-breed, no Esquimau, not even a white man, 
 was this person who entered the door and pushed 
 past him toward his roaring fire. Instead, a woman 
 young, fair-skinned, and fur-clad stood there 
 drawing off a pair of fur mittens and holding dainty 
 fingers toward the blaze; yes, ring-clad fingers, too; 
 Jensen caught the glitter of diamonds on those same 
 dainty fingers. He rubbed his eyes and wondered 
 if he were dreaming. And she certainly had said, 
 "Damn!" 
 
 He finally decided he must be dreaming. As he 
 looked at her again, he decided it was, on the whole, 
 a mighty pleasant sort of a dream to have. 
 
 Too amazed to speak, yet with thoughts madly 
 foraging across a vast field of speculation, Jensen 
 stood gazing at this young woman who had so unex 
 pectedly invaded the solitude of the Little Babos 
 camp. Who was she, and where had she come from ? 
 
 Toward him she had, apparently, not even glanced, 
 as yet. Drawing the bench he had just left closer
 
 10 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 toward the blaze, she sat down and began to com 
 fortably toast her toes as she continued to hold her 
 palms out to the grateful warmth. 
 
 She was rather tall than short, and her form was 
 nicely rounded. A full skirt of heavy garnet mack- 
 inaw reached below her brown bloomered knees, and 
 soft tan pacs covered her trim feet and ankles to the 
 edge of the skirt. She wore a jacket of black fox, 
 tremendously expensive fur, as Jensen well knew, 
 and a fox hood was thrown back from her head, 
 permitting a cloud of spun-gold hair to fall about 
 her glowing cheeks in fascinating tangles of disorder 
 into which the storm had recently tossed it. Her 
 trim, well filled form indicated the athletic girl of 
 outdoor tendencies. 
 
 Jensen gained the elusive impression as he looked 
 at her, partly from the manner in which she had 
 moved toward the fire, partly from her well mani 
 cured fingers and the proud and graceful poise of 
 her head as she sat there, that this was a young woman 
 accustomed to the finer things of life, brought up 
 according to the dictates of the best breeding among 
 people of a high station. 
 
 He decided that a modest cough would be the 
 proper thing to call her attention to his presence in 
 the room.
 
 CAMP ON LITTLE BABOS 11 
 
 " Ahem ! " It was more a roar than a modest 
 cough that he gave vent to in his excitement, but it 
 served. 
 
 With an obvious start of astonishment, the young 
 woman turned rosy cheeks and somber brown eyes 
 away from the blazing fire, glanced Jensen s way, 
 and a look of blank amazement overspread her fea 
 tures. 
 
 " Why ! why ! why ! " she cried in crescendo. 
 " Isn t this the Little Babos camp ? " 
 
 Then, as Jensen stood stiffly and nodded his head 
 in answer, she gazed about the room and continued : 
 
 " Of course it is ; I knew I could not have gotten 
 off the trail ; but who, who are you ? " 
 
 Jensen s heart became less buoyant as he listened. 
 This young woman was giving him excellent evidence 
 that it was she who was " the messenger from the 
 North " alluded to in the note, and Jensen felt rather 
 certain that whatever else the messenger from the 
 North might be, she was engaged in a most disreput 
 able business, a business against which his United 
 States had formed drastic laws and created powers of 
 condign punishment. 
 
 Alan Jensen had never been much of a ladies man ; 
 he was, by nature, too bashful, and this young woman 
 was almost overwhelming him with the sense of her
 
 12 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 beauty and the fascination of those sad brown eyes 
 that were so puzzling in their glance. 
 
 For answer to her question of who he was, Jen 
 sen merely nodded toward the note lying upon the 
 table; more he did not dare say. If things were to 
 be kept straight and she unsuspicious, the note alone 
 would do it. Jensen knew he was floundering in 
 decidedly deep and murky water, with the message 
 on parchment paper his only hope and support. 
 
 The young woman arose from the bench before the 
 blaze, picked up the note, and read it in the firelight ; 
 in fact, judging by the length of time she held it in 
 her hands with her eyes fastened on the writing, 
 Jensen was certain she must have read it through 
 several times, or else she was appearing to do so in 
 order to give herself an opportunity to think and 
 consider. 
 
 As she read, Jensen listened to the wind outside 
 that had now become a howling hurricane, and 
 vaguely wondered what would happen next, for, upon 
 this young woman s interpretation of the curt words 
 written upon the parchment paper depended his own 
 future actions, perhaps his very life. 
 
 Finally she permitted the paper to flutter to the 
 table from nerveless fingers as she turned toward 
 him with a seemingly bewildered air.
 
 CAMP ON LITTLE BABOS 13 
 
 " But, still I do not understand," she declared with 
 frowning 1 brows, half to herself, half to Jensen. 
 
 Then she threw up her head with a decisive mo 
 tion as she added : " Oh, this is absurd ; who are 
 you, anyway ? If you know what you are here for, 
 you do not need to act like a bashful child. Don t 
 try any damn nonsense with me; who are you, 
 anyway ? " 
 
 Yes, she had said " Damn," and by this time Jen 
 sen was perfectly certain that he could not be dream 
 ing. It sounded to him almost proper, so uncon 
 sciously had she used it; yet, at the same time, she 
 had seemed to take particular pains that his ear should 
 not miss the expletive. There was still no clue for 
 Jensen to go upon in shaping his immediate actions ; 
 he had no exact idea who he ought ta be; he could 
 but stand there and stammer like a lost child. 
 
 " They sent me up here," he said, and hoped that 
 " they " might mean more to her than it did to him. 
 " They told me the note would explain. I am a 
 new man on this, and I don t think you would recog 
 nize my name, anyway." He caught her quick 
 frown of impatience and continued: 
 
 " Still, if you must know, my name is Kerrison, 
 Alan Kerrison." 
 
 Somehow, Jensen felt that he would like this
 
 14 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 young woman to know his true given name; of 
 course it was nonsensical, but that was the way he 
 was beginning to feel about it, so deeply had those 
 sad eyes shining from that beautiful face touched 
 him. His errand into the North had to do with 
 gold; old J. J. Kerrison controlled the Colrain and 
 Communapair gold mines, the richest in the world. 
 Jensen had been thinking about old " J. J." that 
 day, although he had never spoken to the man in the 
 flesh, never had even the remotest dealings with him. 
 Thus Kerrison happened to be the first family name 
 that popped into his head at the moment, and he 
 brazenly appropriated it for his own use. 
 
 On this impatient young woman standing before 
 him Jensen s utterance of the name Kerrison ap 
 peared to have an effect almost electrical ; her hands 
 flew to her cheeks, and she drew back as though a 
 snake had confronted her. 
 
 " Kerrison ! " she repeated. " Why, that is my 
 name. Are you chaffing me, or are you really a Ker 
 rison ? I don t believe it ; you haven t the look. No, 
 I know well enough you are not a Kerrison ; you are 
 simply lying. Stop this absurd nonsense and tell 
 me who you are and what you are here for ! " 
 
 She was obviously becoming very impatient if not 
 even angry. Her brown eyes beneath the shadow of
 
 CAMP ON LITTLE BABOS 15 
 
 blond hair snapped warningly. Yet, for the life of 
 him, Jensen did not know how to proceed with her. 
 He felt that complete silence could get him into no 
 worse mess than if he were to talk, so he merely gave 
 a throaty and deferential " Ahem ! " and nodded once 
 more toward the note on the table. If she did not 
 understand that note, he felt he was indeed at sea with 
 her. 
 
 But she, evidently having had quite enough of his 
 note business, merely stepped back and sat again on 
 the bench staring angrily at him as though he were 
 a schoolboy caught stealing plums in an orchard, a 
 lad a trifle too large to whip and a little too simple- 
 minded to scold, such a one as women sometimes 
 imagine they may quell with a look meant to be very 
 stern. 
 
 " Now I ve got her guessing ; she is as undecided 
 what to do next as I am," thought Jensen. " That s 
 an advantage in my corner. I ll hold it." Inci 
 dentally he also thought to himself for about the 
 third time : " She is certainly one mighty hand 
 some girl." 
 
 It is uncertain how long Jensen might have stood 
 there in silence like a bashful schoolboy being stared 
 out of countenance by his stern teacher, had not 
 chance come to his rescue with the sound of a tremen-
 
 16 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 dons commotion outside among the dogs that had re 
 cently arrived with the young woman. There was a 
 chorus of staccato howls, an answering series of ca 
 nine cries in the distance, coming nearer, nearer ; then 
 a wild jumble of snarls as the two forces clashed in 
 conflict. Evidently more visitors were arriving at 
 the lonely camp on the Little Babos.
 
 CASE BM432 
 
 IT was in June, previous to preparing its semi 
 annual report of conditions, that the National 
 Northern Bank, one of the largest single depositories 
 of gold in the United States, made a most astound 
 ing discovery. The bank s vast treasure of coin was 
 being carefully weighed. Sam Kettle, a gigantic 
 negro porter, was lifting the canvas bags of gold 
 pieces to the nicely balanced scales when one bag 
 suddenly burst open at the side, sending a stream 
 of double eagles pouring out upon the floor. 
 
 The negro, in attempting to prevent the rolling 
 coins from disappearing in obscure corners of the 
 somewhat poorly lighted weighing-room, placed his 
 ponderous foot upon several as they spun across the 
 floor. The heel of his shoe and the entire weight 
 of his body coming down upon the edge of one coin 
 bent it double with such force that it snapped into 
 two sections. This split coin was observed by Mr. 
 Atterbury, one of the officials of the bank, who hap 
 pened to be standing by at the moment.
 
 18 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 With a bit of laughing banter to Sam about break 
 ing up the monetary standard, Atterbury picked up 
 the two pieces of coin, declaring that he would 
 retain them as a souvenir of the weight of Sam s 
 foot. 
 
 Upon returning to his private office, Atterbury 
 stood idly for a moment before the window humming 
 an air from the previous evening s opera and attempt 
 ing to fit the broken sections of coin together again. 
 
 Suddenly . the official s usually florid face grew 
 pale as milk; his jovial voice trailed off into a husky 
 whisper, and his eyes seemed about to burst from 
 their sockets. He brought the two halves of coin into 
 a tiny shaft of sunlight that some architectural over 
 sight permitted to filter down between the opposite 
 skyscrapers, and the words " God in Heaven ! " es 
 caped from his dry lips. 
 
 The interior of each half of the double eagle he 
 held between his shaking fingers was a peculiar, por 
 ous, white composition! Outside was a generous 
 layer of undoubtedly pure gold ; but that baser metal 
 within ! What was it \ How did it come there ? 
 Atterbury suddenly felt very sick in the region where 
 he supposed his stomach to be. 
 
 He caught up the inter-communicating telephone 
 on his desk and ordered that the bag of coins that
 
 CASE BM432 19 
 
 had broken open be brought to his office without de 
 lay. 
 
 Sam Kettle, the negro porter, his good-natured face 
 adorned with an expansive grin, came in, lugging the 
 repaired coin bag in his arms. Atterbury broke the 
 seal and ordered that the contents be dumped upon 
 his desk. As he brushed aside the litter of papers, 
 the double eagles fell into a glittering heap upon the 
 polished wood, and the tiny shaft of sunlight seemed 
 to edge toward them as if jealous of this more impres 
 sive glow. 
 
 Atterbury picked up a handful of the coins and 
 rang them, one by one, upon the desk top. Their mel 
 low tinkle was pure and clear. He tried a second fist 
 ful ; only the true ring of good gold coin reached his 
 ear. With a sigh of relief he turned toward the dust- 
 proof glass case standing against the wall beside the 
 window, pushed back the sliding door, threw one of 
 the coins into the tray of the scales therein and 
 matched its weight with a pile of tiny discs selected 
 from a shelf. Atterbury began to breathe easier ; the 
 weight was absolutely exact. 
 
 He tried several additional coins chosen at ran 
 dom from the pile upon his desk, only to find no 
 variance in their weight. Then something in the 
 grinning features of Sam the porter, who had watched
 
 20 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 his motions with simple interest, prompted Atter 
 bury to make a third test. It was utter foolishness, 
 he thought, yet he knew he would feel easier in mind 
 if it were made. 
 
 " Here, Sam," he said, spinning one of the double 
 eagles on its milled edge upon the floor, " jump on 
 that with your heel and all your weight. See if you 
 can break it as easily as you did the other one down 
 in the weighing room." 
 
 This was pure fun for Sam. The porter s two 
 hundred and fifty pounds of solid flesh and bone came 
 down upon the coin with a crash that seemed suffi 
 cient to jar the bank from its foundations. 
 
 " Yessah, guess I done split him dat time, by de 
 feel, sah," declared Sam, as he stepped off the coin. 
 
 Atterbury stooped and picked up the gold coin. It 
 was doubled upon itself and cracked, but not broken 
 into two sections. A thin line of white showed be 
 neath the crack ! 
 
 Shaking like a man with the palsy, Atterbury 
 ordered that a handful of coins be chosen from each 
 of twenty bags stored in the vaults and brought to him 
 in the board room. There, surrounded by ten of the 
 bank s hastily summoned highest officials, he had the 
 coins cut into halves; after which eleven men with 
 blue, pasty faces walked out, believing the world it-
 
 CASE BM432 21 
 
 self, almost, was crumbling about their official heads. 
 Every coin proved to be a clever counterfeit ! 
 
 Within a few hours the Government was apprised 
 of the facts, and gold coins were being tested in va 
 rious cities of the Union, only to reveal that the 
 spurious stuff had been sown broadcast. 
 
 Owing to the enormity of the attempt, and to sev 
 eral peculiar features, every effort was made to keep 
 the case secret; the treasury officials felt that were 
 the public to become aware of the large amounts of 
 spurious coin in circulation, it might cause a panic. 
 The matter went on record simply as Secret Service 
 Case BM432, and so it remained for many days; 
 one of the greatest mysteries in that most mysterious 
 of all professions, the United States Secret Serv 
 ice. 
 
 The spurious double eagles were, to all outward 
 appearances, as perfect as any issued from the United 
 States mint itself. The weight was invariably exact, 
 the ring true. Experts declared the centers of the 
 coins to consist of a composition, the exact nature of 
 which the Government has never seen fit to disclose. 
 This much is known, however, that one of the ele 
 ments in this composition was a rare metal, obtained 
 as a by-product in the refining of pitchblende to se 
 cure radium. The true ring to each counterfeit coin
 
 22 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 was obtained by skilfully " tuning " the spurious 
 metal by means of porous spaces. 
 
 It was the fact that there was so much of the bad 
 money and that no particular section of the United 
 States had a monopoly of it that made the case 
 doubly difficult for the Secret Service. They could 
 discover no initial source ; it seemed to have appeared 
 everywhere, from Portland, Maine, to Portland, Ore 
 gon; from Brownsville, Texas, to Pembina, Minne 
 sota. And, since the coins were outwardly perfect, 
 no official could say with authority how long the 
 counterfeit double eagles had been in circulation; it 
 might be a matter of years, and the original counter 
 feiters long retired from business, perhaps now liv 
 ing safely abroad. 
 
 Matters went on until July with Case BM432 as 
 baffling a mystery as it had been in the beginning. 
 
 On the sixth day of July, Chief Hilkie of the 
 United States Secret Service called in all his opera 
 tives who were working on the case and distributed 
 them within a certain distance of each other in one 
 unbroken double line across the center of the United 
 States from coast to coast. One section of this line 
 had orders to move steadily south, the other north. 
 The chief had an idea, and Chief Hilkie s ideas were 
 apt to be things of considerable importance.
 
 CASE BM432 23 
 
 Alan Jensen also started to work on Case BM432 
 in July. Jensen was a unit in the line of Secret 
 Service men raking the country toward the north. 
 
 Jensen had orders to search for signs of any sus 
 picious parties putting gold coins into circulation; 
 to look for traces of a counterfeiting plant, and to 
 nose out the source of the mysterious element ob 
 tained from pitchblende which the chief felt to be 
 the keynote of the entire affair. Could he but gain 
 information regarding the source of this peculiar 
 white metal, Chief Hilkie believed the rest of his 
 case would be but child s play. 
 
 Journeying through northern Vermont, accord 
 ing to instructions, Jensen had stopped one night in 
 an isolated camp of French-Canadian charcoal 
 burners. Here he found another stranger, ill and 
 delirious, being cared for by these men; they de 
 clared the sick man had stumbled into the hut one 
 evening a week previous; had thrown gold coins 
 right and left and stridently demanded that they 
 produce " that bundle of furs for the bank and let 
 him be on his way." There was also more babbling 
 nonsense the charcoal burners did not understand 
 and did not remember. 
 
 Knowing that banks do not ordinarily deal in 
 furs, Jensen asked to see some of the gold coins
 
 24 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 tossed about by the sick man in his delirium. Split 
 ting a coin with an axe Jensen discovered the in 
 terior to consist of base white metal ! 
 
 This could mean much, or nothing, as Jensen 
 realized. The sick man might be only an honest 
 fur trader, innocently having some of the counter 
 feit coin in his possession. Yet it offered a lead 
 worth following, and Jensen volunteered to sit up 
 with the sick man through the night, hoping some 
 thing definite might be pieced together from his 
 ravings. 
 
 It was a strange mixture of sense and nonsense 
 that Jensen listened to through the long night, while 
 the stolid charcoal burners punctuated the hours 
 with snores in many keys. The man was obviously 
 well educated, for he often spoke in good Latin and 
 Greek, and there was considerable talk about Argive 
 Helen; about false-hearted sirens and satyrs who 
 led unsuspecting mortals across fair fields into con 
 cealed pits of destruction. To this talk Jensen paid 
 slight attention, deeming it mere raving of delirium. 
 
 Toward morning the man appeared to become 
 more rational, and Jensen thought he gathered that 
 his name was Tom Springvale, that he was on his 
 way to Lake Lucann, Quebec, where he " would 
 strike Trail Number One at the head of the lake,
 
 CASE BM432 25 
 
 at the Yellow Portage; but must keep carefully 
 clear of Trail Number Two; must obtain the pack 
 age at The Little Babos camp and must return to 
 New York without delay." These seemed to be in 
 structions the sick man had received, for he re 
 peated them again and again, as though the words 
 had been ringing through his mind for days. At 
 times he referred to " Trail Number One " as 
 " Dead Man s Trail." 
 
 Jensen remembered a Tom Springvale who had 
 played quarterback on the eleven at Harvard; but 
 that chap was a senior while Jensen was a fresh 
 man, and he had known him but slightly. Illness 
 and a beard had so altered this man s features that 
 he could not say whether it was the same Spring- 
 vale or not. He seemed to remember that the 
 Springvale he had known became an engineer of 
 some kind. 
 
 This man had an odd, livid scar running diago 
 nally from his right temple to the left side of his 
 mouth, as if from a sabre cut or something of that 
 sort. The Springvale Jensen remembered had no 
 such scar as this on his face during his college days ; 
 he would certainly have recalled it if he had. 
 
 Just at dawnbreak, when awakening grunts and 
 animal-like yawns were beginning to come from the
 
 26 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 surrounding bunks of the charcoal burners, Spring- 
 vale raised himself on one elbow, stared wildly at 
 Jensen, and shouted : " This is the last lot ; bring 
 it through safely at any cost." 
 
 The man then fell back weakly, began to pick at 
 the soiled blanket with gaunt fingers, and before the 
 sun was an hour high he was dead. 
 
 There was absolutely nothing in the traveler s 
 pack to identify him further; only the ordinary 
 duffle that would be carried by a person journeying 
 into the North at this season of the year. 
 
 Jensen remained among the charcoal burners for 
 a day, studying them closely and trying to decide 
 what it was best to do. It was not until he had 
 made certain these men were concealing nothing, 
 and was preparing to depart on his way, that he 
 discovered the note. 
 
 Gathering up his own traps, he happened to 
 glance beneath the bunk where the stranger had died ; 
 his eye was caught by a bit of white paper. Pick 
 ing this up, he smoothed it out and read: 
 
 " You will immediately proceed to the camp on the Little 
 Babos, as per previous instructions, and await a messenger 
 from the North. This note will identify you." 
 
 The words " Little Babos," coupled with what 
 the sick man had said in his more rational moments,
 
 CASE BM432 27 
 
 convinced Jensen that this note must have been 
 dropped by him. He left the charcoal camp, hur 
 ried to the nearest city, Burlington, and got into 
 telephonic communication with his chief. Because 
 of having chummed with his son at college, Jensen 
 was much closer to Chief Hilkie than the ordinary 
 Secret Service operative. 
 
 Chief Hilkie was rather skeptical; he didn t 
 think it promised much. The man was probably 
 a Hudson s Bay Company messenger. The Hud 
 son s Bay posts often did a sort of banking business. 
 Still, in the present absolutely blank status of the 
 case, anything in the slightest degree significant 
 was a lead, and the chief, knowing that Jensen had 
 spent many vacations in the north woods and could 
 easily handle himself under the conditions he would 
 meet there, ordered him to go to Lake Lucann, find 
 the trail to the Little Babos camp, and follow it up, 
 representing himself as a deputy of the man Spring- 
 vale, who had died in the charcoal camp. In the 
 meantime the chief would put another man on the 
 back track from the charcoal burner s camp and 
 attempt to trace out Springvale from there. 
 
 Arriving at Lake Lucann, Jensen had no diffi 
 culty in discovering what he felt certain was " Trail 
 Number One." An unmistakable outcropping of pe-
 
 28 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 culiar yellow clay at a portage near the head of the 
 lake pointed the way. He followed this trail, becom 
 ing more certain with the passing of each day that 
 it must produce tangible developments in Case 
 BM432, until his map told him he had reached the 
 Little Babos River. Here he found the completely 
 equipped camp with its ample stores, and here he 
 paused to await the arrival of the messenger from 
 the North referred to in the note he had picked up 
 in the charcoal burner s hut.
 
 Ill 
 
 UPON hearing the commotion outside the Lit 
 tle Babos cabin, Jensen turned toward the 
 door and threw it open. Outside the storm now 
 raged furiously; a wall of blinding snow and sleet 
 whirled about the cabin. He could barely distin 
 guish a horde of fighting dogs and a human figure 
 passing among them, wielding a whip with no mer 
 ciful hand. Finally the snarls turned to cringing 
 whimpers, and Jensen saw a man accompanied by a 
 single animal come running toward the shaft of 
 firelight shining from the door. 
 
 Jensen held open the door, and man and dog came 
 rushing in. He was a little man, thin almost to 
 emaciation, brown skinned, with pointed, intensely 
 black beard, and a face marked with deep scars that 
 gave him an appearance of vicious ugliness, ugli 
 ness that was almost uncannily canine as the long 
 black strings of hair fell about his face, and his thin 
 lips were drawn away from a row of yellow teeth in
 
 30 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 a satyr-like grin. He darted toward the roaring 
 fire. 
 
 " Wall ! wall ! Thees ees one dam bliz , eh, my 
 friend," he declared, as he threw back his fur cap 
 rimmed with a row of icicles that cracked away and 
 fell tinkling to the hearth. " One dam bliz ! " He, 
 too, appeared to repeat and emphasize the expletive 
 oddly, as if he desired that there be no misunder 
 standing regarding how lie characterized the storm. 
 " But eet ees tak more dan dees bliz to catch Sin 
 Petair, eh, my Baby ? " And he reached over to 
 stroke the head of the dog, half wolf, half collie, 
 that crouched beside him, evidently enjoying the 
 comforting warmth of the fire quite as much as did 
 the master. 
 
 The dog looked up with affectionate topaz eyes, 
 pounded her great tail upon the floor a few times, 
 and then went back to the business of gnawing away 
 the balls of ice that adhered to the fur-rimmed pads 
 of her feet. 
 
 " Eh, why don you speak, eh, what ? " asked the 
 man beside the fire, turning toward Jensen for the 
 first time since his entrance. " You hear me say 
 thees ees one dam bliz , eh, what ? " 
 
 Truth to tell, Jensen had been too astonished at 
 the visitor s first entrance to open his own mouth.
 
 THE EYES OF SIN PETAIR 31 
 
 Although the man had a face of most surpassing 
 ugliness, his voice was like soft music; even when 
 he uttered the harshest consonants, they flowed from 
 his lips with the caressing murmur of a cooing brook 
 passing over the smooth pebbles of its bed. It was 
 as if a wolf had become possessed of the voice of a 
 dove, and Jensen was deeply puzzled whether to take 
 his facial appearance or the tones of his voice as the 
 character keynote of this latest arrival at the camp 
 on the Little Babos. Then, too, Jensen found him 
 self greatly perplexed to decide which of these two 
 arrivals, the man or the woman, was the real mes 
 senger from the North alluded to in the note still 
 lying upon the shelf table beneath the north win 
 dow. Judging by the sounds he had heard, this 
 latest arrival had come from the east; but he was 
 not certain of that. 
 
 As the man and dog came into the cabin, Jen 
 sen s attention had been drawn away from the 
 woman; now he glanced covertly toward where she 
 sat at one side as he answered the man s remark. 
 
 " It certainly is * one damn blizzard, as you say, 
 and you were indeed fortunate to find sanctuary 
 here before it became worse. I arrived before the 
 storm began myself, but this young woman just beat 
 it out in time." Jensen accented his expletive as
 
 32 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 had the other two arrivals. He was becoming cer 
 tain that there must be some hidden meaning in that 
 otherwise innocent expression ; the look of perplexity 
 that overspread the young woman s face as he em 
 phasized it confirmed Jensen s impression. 
 
 " Eh, what ? " questioned the man who had called 
 himself Saint Peter, glancing up questioningly. 
 " Thees young woman ? Why don you no tell Sin 
 Petair there ees ladies presant, eh what, my Baby ? " 
 He poked one moccasin shod foot into the gaunt ribs 
 of the dog stretched out by the fire. 
 
 The dog got up, yawned her great jaws, and walk 
 ing sedately to where the young woman sat, perched 
 on haunches before her and began to whine queru 
 lously, almost as if attempting to form words. 
 
 " Vairy good, Baby," commended Saint Peter 
 whimsically. " Vair-ey good ; eet ees wan young 
 lady with gol en hair, you say in dog language. A 
 ver 5 bee-utiful young lady; een fact, my Baby, you 
 say she ees dam beautiful, eh, what ? " The man 
 laughed elfishly, shaking the strings of hair about 
 his head. He appeared also to listen tensely as he 
 uttered his last sentence. 
 
 " Come, come, that will be enough about the 
 young lady s appearance," declared Jensen, frown 
 ing at these frank expressions, yet not failing to
 
 THE EYES OF SIN PET AIR 33 
 
 note the accented word again. " Such opinions are 
 better kept to yourself, Saint Peter. The question 
 uppermost is: Can we three make ourselves com 
 fortable here for the night, or until the storm 
 abates ? " He glanced toward Miss Kerrison as he 
 put the question. 
 
 Jensen had already decided that the proper course 
 for him under present circumstances was so to act 
 as to quiet any suspicions in the mind of the young 
 woman; to be non-committal with the man, permit 
 ting him to draw his own conclusions; and to hope 
 for an opportunity of making covert inspection of 
 the two sledges that had been left outside by these 
 two arrivals at the Little Babos camp. There were 
 three rooms to the cabin, and he hoped such an op 
 portunity would come later. 
 
 It was the little man calling himself Saint Peter 
 who answered Jensen s question : " Comfor able, 
 ees eet? Why, for certain; sure, sure, as they say 
 at the post. But first let me put you straight, 
 M sieu ; my name eet ees Petair Sin, eef you please. 
 The factor at the post he always set eet down een 
 hees beeg books Sin, Petair/ so I speak it so my 
 self." He said this with an uncouth sort of dignity 
 and pride. 
 
 ".Very well, Peter Saint," answered Jensen.
 
 34 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " My name is Alan Kerrison ; the young lady is Miss 
 Kerrison. Now the next thing is to eat; for my 
 part, I m as hungry as a wolf." 
 
 " Sure, sure, sure ! " declared Peter Saint. " You 
 seet by the fire and entertain dese young lady. Baby 
 and Sin Petair will cook you wan supper so fine 
 you will say hee s wan best chef in Canada, theese 
 Sin Petair from Lac L Belle Lucann." 
 
 Peter Saint arose from his bench by the fire and 
 began bustling about the room. He moved quickly, 
 but in rather a blundering way, the dog continually 
 by his side, her very nose seeming to follow the habi- 
 tan s hand wherever it moved. Occasionally the man 
 would reach out and fondly pat the animal ; at other 
 times he would stand on the floor, mimicking perplex 
 ity in a droll manner, and say : 
 
 " Wall, wall, where ees that coffee can, wat, eh, my 
 Baby?" 
 
 The great dog would reach up, poke her damp nose 
 into some corner of a shelf and finally tumble out the 
 coffee can, or whatever else it was he asked of her. 
 Seldom did she make a mistake, and Jensen marvelled 
 much at his actions as he sat before the fire watch 
 ing the strange man and his dog. Whether she dis 
 covered things by their odors or how it was he could 
 not make out.
 
 THE EYES OF SIN PETAIR 35 
 
 Miss Kerrison continued to sit in her dark corner 
 with frowning and perplexed brows, as if too puzzled 
 to take any part in the actions of either of these men. 
 
 Peter Saint appeared to give little more notice to 
 the young woman than as if she had not been present. 
 Once, in his bustling about the room, he did happen 
 to stumble awkwardly across her feet and immedi- 
 
 
 
 ately went into a profusion of apologies, using the 
 word " damn " with marked emphasis ; apologies that 
 would have been more prolonged had not Jensen 
 growled out a command for him to cease and hurry 
 on with his preparations for the meal. 
 
 Twice Jensen took occasion to make a passing re 
 mark to Miss Kerrison about the severity of the 
 storm ; once he invited her to draw nearer to the fire 
 warmth as he threw on more logs ; but she answered 
 only with indifferent monosyllables. 
 
 Peter Saint, having finished his preparations for 
 cooking the supper, now gave his attention to laying 
 the board. With arms laden with dishes, he stepped 
 toward the large shelf -table where lay Jensen s strange 
 note. The dog, preceding him by a few steps, first 
 set eyes on the tiny bit of white paper. With paws 
 on the table, she began sniffing at it, uttering, mean 
 while, a series of those same odd, querulous whines 
 with which she had saluted Miss Kerrison.
 
 36 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " Eh, what ees theese, my Baby ? " called Peter 
 Saint in astonishment, picking tip the paper at the 
 very first cry of the dog. " A lettair ? " He dropped 
 the dishes to the table in a clattering heap. 
 
 Jensen arose to recover his note, took but a few 
 steps, and then stopped in amazement. Peter Saint, 
 instead of bringing the paper to the firelight and hold 
 ing it before his eyes to read, was passing sensitive 
 finger-tips over the writing, meanwhile muttering the 
 message softly to himself. 
 
 " You weel immediate proceed to camp on the 
 Leetle Babo , as pair previous instruc ions. Eh, my 
 Baby, thees ees wan mos peculiar lettair, eh, what ? 
 An await ze messengair from the Nord ? Um, 
 1 from the Nord ? Eh, my Baby, what does Sin 
 Petair and Baby know about theese theengs ? l An 
 theese note weel identify you. Tees mos strange 
 lettair, Baby." 
 
 For one puzzled instant Jensen looked and listened, 
 then he grasped the habitan by the shoulder, whirled 
 him about into the glare from the fire, and gazed into 
 the man s face; the eyes turned up toward his were 
 entirely filmed over, both iris and white, a soft gray 
 mass floating between tanned lids. The man was 
 blind ; at most he could only have told the difference 
 between darkness and light.
 
 THE EYES OF SIN PETAIR 37 
 
 "You are blind, Peter Saint," declared Jensen, 
 angry that the man should not have mentioned it. 
 " Why didn t you tell me this before ? " 
 
 " M sieu Kerrison ees make wan beeg mestake," 
 answered the habitan in that soft voice of his, that 
 accorded so oddly with his satyr-like features. " Sin 
 Petair ees not blind. Ho ! Ho ! Ho ! We theenk not, 
 eh, my Baby ? " He put out his hand toward the 
 great dog that was growling about Jensen s legs and 
 patted her fondly. " Thees ees my eyes, an bettair 
 eyes can nevair be for any man. Eees not thees true, 
 eh, my Baby, what ? " Babe, the big wolf-collie, 
 whimpered her unmistakable acquiescence. 
 
 With a sudden rush it came to Jensen that this 
 strange blind habitan with the soft voice had found 
 himself wonderfully at home in the cabin on the Lit 
 tle Babos; that, despite his lack of sight, he had 
 moved about the room with amazing accuracy and 
 with seemingly complete knowledge of where each ar 
 ticle of cookery was kept. Jensen thought he under 
 stood now why there was no provision for making a 
 light in the cabin. He determined to settle the ques 
 tion at once. 
 
 " So it is in your cabin, Peter Saint, that the young 
 lady and myself have taken shelter ? " he asked. 
 
 " Sure, sure, sure," answered Peter Saint without
 
 38 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 any attempt at evading the matter ; thus adding more 
 to the perplexed condition of Jensen s mind. " What 
 you theenk, eh? You theenk Sin Petair and hees 
 Baby go in every ouse dey come across, wat ? We 
 theenk not, eh, my Baby? Sin Petair know where 
 he eese belong. Deese ees my ome, to him you are 
 welcome, M sieu Kerrison, an also dees young lady 
 with gol en hair, she ees welcome also." The habitan 
 bowed low and chuckled softly, as if inwardly enjoy 
 ing some huge joke. 
 
 " You have ask Sin Petair vair mooch," he con 
 tinued, " and Sin Petair he has tol you everyt ing 
 with open heart. Now one leetle question from Sin 
 Petair to M sieu Kerrison. Deese lettair what my 
 Baby fin on deese table, who, pleese, bring de leetle 
 lettair to de cabin of Sin Petair on de Leetle Babo ? 
 Was eet M sieu Kerrison bring deese lettair ? " The 
 habitan asked his question in a wonderfully soft and 
 insinuating manner that would have disarmed the 
 most suspicious listener. 
 
 Unfortunately for the success of his journey into 
 the wilderness, Jensen underestimated the perspi 
 cacity of Peter Saint, the French Canadian habitan, 
 in forming his answer. Putting his trust in the 
 habitan s voice rather than his face, Jensen took it 
 quite for granted that Peter Saint believed him to be
 
 THE EYES OF SIN PETAIR 39 
 
 the person who had brought the note to his camp and 
 answered accordingly. 
 
 " Certainly, I brought that letter," answered Jen 
 sen confidently. " I was instructed to await here for 
 a messenger from the North. I supposed this young 
 lady, Miss Kerrison, to be the person I was awaiting, 
 but, apparently, she knows nothing about it." 
 
 " I theenk M sieu Kerrison eese make wan leetle 
 mistake, eh, what ? " said the habitan sharply, the soft 
 tones missing from his voice now. " My Baby, she 
 act as if deese lettair belong to some other man than 
 M sieu Kerrison ; an Baby, she eese wan wise dog." 
 
 " Nonsense," declared Jensen laughingly, deter 
 mined to bluff it out. " Your Babe is a very clever 
 dog, but she has gone astray this time. It is my note 
 of instructions from headquarters. If you belong 
 here at the Little Babos camp, you probably under 
 stand that without my saying any more; but I can 
 easily prove my statement. The young lady, Miss 
 Kerrison, and myself are the only two people who have 
 been in your cabin ; she will, I think, tell you that she 
 did not bring the letter ? " Jensen turned toward 
 where the young woman sat beside the fire in half 
 darkness. He expected her to immediately declare 
 that the letter was certainly not hers and must be 
 his.
 
 40 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 At his question the young woman stood up, tossed 
 back her head, and answered : " This man who calls 
 himself Kerrison did have the letter in his possession 
 when I arrived here, but I am satisfied it is not his ; 
 he knows absolutely nothing more than what is writ 
 ten there, what any person might know from reading 
 it. He has evidently come into possession of the 
 note in some clandestine manner and is trying to bluff 
 it out. What he is here for I do not know; but it 
 means no good to you, Peter Saint." 
 
 As Miss Kerrison spoke, Jensen had turned toward 
 her. The instinct of constant guard that never leaves 
 men of his calling now made him whirl his glance 
 suddenly back toward the habitan. He caught the 
 man s face glaring his way with a look of intense 
 fury, the man himself poised on his toes with clutch 
 ing fingers about to leap toward his throat. 
 
 Jensen dodged quickly to one side at the very in 
 stant the blind habitan shot toward him like a stone 
 from a catapult. Failing to find the expected form 
 to impinge upon, Peter Saint fell crashing to the 
 floor, and Jensen leaped forward to pin him there, 
 only to feel his arm grasped in the mouth of the dog 
 Babe, as she jerked him onto his back and stood across 
 his chest with threatening jaws extended, her lips 
 drawn tautly back from the white fangs, and the
 
 THE EYES OF SIN PETAIR 41 
 
 bristles along her spine standing up in a ruffled yellow 
 plume. He tried to roll from beneath the dog, but 
 she bit a snarling growl in the middle with a snap 
 of her steel jaws at his throat. It seemed the part 
 of discretion to lay quiet. 
 
 Peter Saint arose to his feet rubbing a bruised 
 knee. 
 
 " M sieu Kerrison has seen de eyes of Sin Petair 
 wan tarn back ; now M sieu Kerrison see de teeth of 
 Sin Petair." He said this with a soft chuckle. 
 " Dey are vairy sharp, theese teeth. I will recom- 
 men dat M sieu Kerrison remain vairy quiet w ile 
 we fix M sieu so ee can not ave any more strange 
 dreams about lettaires dat do not belong to eem." 
 
 The habitan stepped toward a shelf. Eeturning 
 with a stout rope, he began to truss Jensen up in a 
 thoroughly competent manner. The young woman 
 stood looking on with what Jensen took to be a sar 
 castic smile wreathed about her red lips. 
 
 Babe, the big wolf -collie, held menacing jaws but a 
 few inches from his throat, offering ample demonstra 
 tion in her own effective manner that the teeth of 
 Peter Saint were quite as proficient in their way as 
 were the eyes of Peter Saint. It was probably her 
 keen nose that had been the means of indicating to the 
 blind habitan the fact that the letter on which Alan
 
 42 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Jensen had staked his all in this journey into the 
 North was not his rightful possession, but had been 
 for some time in the company of a man whose per 
 sonal identification card, as conveyed to the nostrils 
 of a dog, was vastly different from that of the man 
 now being securely tied as he lay upon the floor of 
 the cabin on the Little Babos.
 
 IV 
 
 HAVING removed Jensen s automatic that had 
 been slung about his neck inside his coat, and 
 tied Jensen s arms and legs so securely that he could 
 scarcely move without difficulty, Peter Saint carried 
 him toward a low bench seat that extended along the 
 farther side of the cabin. The habitan appeared 
 small and emaciated, yet the ease with which he lifted 
 Jensen s athletic form proved him to possess muscles 
 of steel. Dropping Jensen to the bench, he said with 
 an elfish grin: 
 
 "Pardon, M sieu, eef I make eet so he will lay 
 vairy quiet. Eet is necessaire." 
 
 The more Jensen saw of this habitan, the more puz 
 zled he became regarding how best to take him. 
 When he closed his eyes and heard him speak, he set 
 Peter Saint down as a simple, big-hearted, French 
 Canadian of wonderfully appealing personality ; when 
 he looked into that satyr-like face, he saw nothing 
 but black-hearted villainy written all over it; yet 
 against this facial evidence stood one of the stoutest
 
 44 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 convictions of Jensen s life in the open, that any per 
 son able to make a firm friend of a dog was worth 
 accepting as your friend on this recommendation 
 alone. 
 
 " Look here, Peter Saint," he declared. " This is 
 utter foolishness, tying me up like this ; you already 
 have my revolver, and I ll give you my word to sit 
 quiet in a corner and molest no one if you will loosen 
 these cords; they are deucedly uncomfortable; be 
 sides, I must have something to eat, and surely you do 
 not mean to waste your time in feeding me like a child 
 while I am tied." 
 
 As he spoke, Jensen turned toward the young 
 woman. He had recently thought he discerned a 
 faint sign of pity at his condition passing across her 
 face as she stood before the roaring fire. He resolved 
 to follow up the lead it offered. 
 
 " My shoulder, too, pains like the very devil where 
 your dog fastened her teeth, and I ought to dress it," 
 he added. " Come now, Peter Saint, be a good fel 
 low and cut me loose. There is some sort of a mis 
 understanding about that letter business, but I feel 
 sure we can fix it up all right if we but talk matters 
 over calmly while we are all partaking of that glor 
 ious smelling supper you have been so good as to 
 prepare."
 
 A TRUCE FOR THE NIGHT 45 
 
 " Wall ! wall ! Sin Petair ees not wan man wid hard 
 heart," answered the habitan, who was inordinately 
 vain of his culinary attainments. " Suppose we leave 
 dese matter to the young lady ; eef she say untie dese 
 man who speak wrongly about dese lettair, eh, well, 
 we shall untie heem ! " 
 
 As he spoke, Peter Saint turned toward Miss Ker- 
 rison with a questioning gesture. Jensen attempted 
 to move his upper body so that the blood that was be 
 ginning to soak through his coat sleeve from the 
 wound made by the dog might be in evidence. He 
 felt it was taking a rather mean advantage to thus 
 play upon her sympathies, yet, at the same time, he 
 knew Case BM432 would not be likely to register 
 much forward progress while he remained tied and 
 helpless. 
 
 Babe had fastened her teeth in the same arm Jen 
 sen had previously injured with the axe, and even the 
 slight movement he was able to make in turning his 
 body sent such a dart of agonizing pain shooting from 
 finger-tips to shoulder that he did not need to call 
 up any arts of simulation in order to make his con 
 dition convincing. The blood receded from his face, 
 he saw the firelight suddenly die down, and the room 
 went dark about him just as Miss Kerrison told 
 Peter Saint to release him. Something prompted
 
 46 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 him, oddly enough, to call out Miss Kerrison s name 
 and, long after, he remembered hearing his own voice 
 repeat it, fainter and fainter, until it trailed off into 
 silence, and everything became a blank. 
 
 When Jensen regained his senses, he was lying 
 upon a thick, fur-covered skin in the warmest corner 
 before the fire; his heavy mackinaw coat was off, 
 the blue wool overshirt sleeve and the undershirt 
 sleeve were both cut away, and sympathetic hands 
 were cleansing the ugly wound made by the dog s 
 teeth with some pungent smelling liquid he took to 
 be formalin. 
 
 For a moment he lay quietly with closed eyes. The 
 storm was still beating about the cabin with wild fury ; 
 occasionally he heard a dog whine plaintively as it 
 sniffed at the faint line of light and warmth that 
 showed beneath the door. The liquid being applied 
 to his arm stung like nettles, yet it was so gently used 
 that he scarcely dared open his eyes for fear of 
 frightening away the hand that touched him. Fi 
 nally he did open his eyes, only to meet disappoint 
 ment; it was Peter Saint who knelt beside him and 
 swabbed out his wound with a bit of cotton. He had 
 thought and hoped it might be Miss Kerrison. 
 
 Jensen decided that his period of unconsciousness 
 could have lasted but a few moments, for a pot of
 
 A TRUCE FOR THE NIGHT 47 
 
 coffee was steaming upon the table as if just placed 
 there, and Miss Kerrison was moving about the room 
 making final preparations for the meal, while Peter 
 Saint attended to Jensen s wound. Catching the de 
 licious aroma of the steaming Yarguli, he arose to 
 a sitting position as the habitan wound the last 
 length of aseptically treated bandage about his 
 arm. 
 
 " Great Caesar s ghost, Peter Saint ! but that cof 
 fee of yours smells glorious ! " he cried. " I ve been 
 brewing it myself from the same stock for several 
 days; but I never could bring out an odor like that. 
 Tis appetizing enough to revive the mummy of 
 Pharaoh Meneptah himself. Now that you have so 
 nicely fixed up my arm, it only needs a cup of your 
 surpassing coffee to put me fit as a fiddle." 
 
 The habitan grinned with pleasure at this praise. 
 Jensen got to his feet, and Miss Kerrison turned to 
 ward him. Alan hoped to catch in her glance some 
 sign of relief at his recovery, but, if she felt it, noth- 
 thing of the sort was allowed to become evident. He 
 saw only the same glance of perplexity with which she 
 had met his gaze from the first. 
 
 " M sieu is vairy good to speak so highly of my cof 
 fee," said the habitan ; " the brewing it is nossing, 
 every voyageur in Canada hees make good coffee ; but
 
 48 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 the berry, ah, it is mooch. Theese berry is wan gift 
 from my dear frien M sieu " 
 
 It was done so quickly Jensen was scarcely able to 
 fully realize for the moment just what had been done, 
 he was so dazed from the temporary swoon and the 
 excruciating pain of the two wounds in his arm ; but 
 he thought he saw Miss Kerrison dart quickly to 
 Peter Saint s side and place her fingers lightly on his 
 lips before he could utter the name of the friend who 
 had presented him with the rare and almost priceless 
 Yarguli. 
 
 It was but one more mystery to add to the many 
 with which Jensen s mind had been constantly puz 
 zling since the night spent at the sick man s bedside 
 in the charcoal burners camp. Yet it assured him of 
 one thing; while he had been unconscious, either 
 Miss Kerrison and Peter Saint had come to some 
 sort of an understanding, or they had previously 
 known each other better than their actions had led 
 him to believe. 
 
 As Jensen arose to his feet after having his arm 
 bandaged, he reeled a bit with dizziness and the heat 
 of the room. At a word from Miss Kerrison, Peter 
 Saint came quickly to his side. 
 
 " Take my arm, M sieu," he bowed with a grin. 
 
 The habitan assisted Jensen toward a well-spread
 
 A TRUCE FOR THE NIGHT 49 
 
 table beneath the north window with all the gentle 
 ness of a mother ministering to a child, his soft voice 
 murmuring words of sympathy, while his thin lips 
 were drawn away from his yellow teeth in an evil, 
 skull-like grin that would have frightened an actual 
 child into fits. 
 
 " Miss Kerrison, Peter Saint and I have declared 
 a truce for the night," said Jensen with a smile, as 
 he drew forward a chair and waved an invitation for 
 her to be seated at the table. " I hope this arrange 
 ment includes yourself as well, and that we shall be 
 a comfortable party of three at supper. I mean to 
 explain all about that letter, and I want you both to 
 hear what I have to say." 
 
 Whether it was hunger and the appetizing odor of 
 Peter Saint s expertly prepared supper, or a desire to 
 meet his conciliatory attitude half way that made 
 her accept the chair he offered, Jensen did not know ; 
 but Miss Kerrison sat down without deigning to af 
 ford him anything more than the perfunctory thanks 
 she might have bestowed on a reasonably courteous 
 waiter. 
 
 Peter Saint took a seat at the table and proceeded 
 to do the honors with no bad grace, considering the 
 fact that he was only a forest-bred habitan. It was 
 marvellous with what precision his sensitive fingers
 
 50 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 moved about and found the dishes, served out the por 
 tions, and gracefully handed them to his involuntary 
 guests. He seemed to remember where every article 
 on the table was located when once he had found it. 
 It was difficult for Jensen to realize the man was 
 blind, and he watched him with increasing wonder. 
 
 Babe, the dog, sat on her haunches beside Peter 
 Saint s chair and accepted bits of food or cooing ban 
 ter from her master with equal satisfaction. There 
 were flaky biscuits that would have reflected credit 
 on the most expert chef of the Ritz-Carlton ; and there 
 was a dish of baked beans that, while they originally 
 came from out a tin can, had been so coaxed into a 
 state of rare toothsomeness by the culinary skill of 
 Peter Saint that the original canner would have sworn 
 they could never have come from his factory-made 
 stocks. And the bacon ! Instead of being fried into 
 disgusting slabs of grease-oozing sponge, it had been 
 baked in a reflecting oven to a condition of delicate 
 crispness and crunchy sweetness that would have 
 called forth a purr of satisfaction from Lucullus him 
 self. And there was the Yarguli, and, greatest of 
 all, there was the healthy hunger that comes only in 
 the keen, cold air of the North. 
 
 For a few moments the four virile animals gathered 
 about the table paid expressive tribute to the culinary
 
 A TRUCE FOR THE NIGHT 51 
 
 skill of Peter Saint with busy teeth and grateful 
 stomachs. Then Jensen thought it time to explain 
 the matter of the letter. Having decided that this 
 missive dropped in the charcoal burners camp had 
 been originally intended for delivery to Peter Saint, 
 the peculiar character of the writing with the sharply 
 raised letters which the habitan had deciphered so 
 readily being convincing evidence to that effect, he 
 addressed his remarks to him. 
 
 " Now, Peter Saint," said Jensen, " I ll explain 
 fully about that letter ; Babe is right, it was not really 
 mine ; the man who originally possessed that letter is 
 dead. He" 
 
 The sound of a quick, gasping intake of breath 
 made Jensen stop abruptly and drew his attention 
 toward Miss Kerrison. The color had left her lips, 
 her hands were gripping the table convulsively, and 
 she was looking at him with wide, staring eyes as she 
 repeated in awed tones: 
 
 " Dead, dead, tell me quickly, how did he die, and 
 where ? " 
 
 " I am coming to that," answered Jensen. " Tom 
 Springvale and I were together at a charcoal burners 
 camp in northern Vermont; my friend, Springvale, 
 who carried the letter, was on his way to Peter Saint s 
 camp here, when he was accidentally struck down by
 
 52 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 a blow on the head from a falling tree. The concus 
 sion brought on brain fever from which he did not 
 recover. I was with him when he died at the char 
 coal burners camp, and he exacted a promise from me 
 that I would carry out the mission on which he had 
 been engaged. That mission was the delivery of this 
 letter at Peter Saint s camp, after which I was to re 
 turn with the package the note refers to." 
 
 " Return to where ? " 
 
 Jensen had so far found such smooth sailing with 
 his narrative that this unexpected question Miss Ker- 
 rison had shot at him brought him up standing. He 
 had all he could do to make his voice sound confident 
 and natural as he answered : 
 
 " To New York." 
 
 As he uttered the name of the city, Jensen breathed 
 a silent hope that Miss Kerrison might not ask him 
 to whom the package was to be delivered. It was a 
 forlorn hope ; almost as the words passed through his 
 mind, she voiced them : 
 
 " And to whom were you to deliver this package in 
 New York ? " She eyed him keenly as she put the 
 question. 
 
 "To the bank." 
 
 Fortunately, Jensen found sudden inspiration for 
 his answer in what the delirious Springvale had said
 
 A TRUCE FOR THE NIGHT 53 
 
 when he first came among the charcoal burners. Ap 
 parently it was an answer that satisfied Miss Kerri- 
 son, for he saw her tense grip upon the table relax, 
 and a look of relief flowed across her face as she 
 leaned supinely back in her chair ! 
 
 " Tom Springvale told me that the code word I 
 must speak here was i damn/ " continued Jensen, 
 " that it would be understood, and I would be given 
 a package that must be brought back at once. I am 
 sorry I mixed up matters so in the beginning; but 
 you see I was not certain about either you or Peter 
 Saint. I have been waiting here at the Little Babos 
 camp for several days, and I thought perhaps both 
 of you might be but casual travelers who had taken 
 shelter, from the storm." 
 
 Jensen had exerted a tremendous effort to make his 
 story sound simple, earnest, and natural ; he was cer 
 tain that the success of his mission depended wholly 
 on gaining the confidence of these two people, and that 
 that confidence hinged on whether or not they believed 
 his version of how he had come into possession of the 
 letter. 
 
 Apparently Miss Kerrison did believe him, for she 
 favored Jensen with a slight smile as she said : 
 
 " I guess you are all right, after all. I thought 
 at first you might be a Secret Service man." She
 
 54 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 paused a moment before going on. " Tell me, were 
 you and Tom Springvale long friends? How did 
 you meet him ? " 
 
 She was looking intently into his face, very serene 
 and calm as she voiced her question. There seemed 
 no note of distrust in her tones; yet, somehow, Jen 
 sen could not rid himself of the suspicion that he was 
 not fooling her even a little bit ; that she really knew 
 his secret as well as he did himself and was merely 
 drawing him out. Yet he knew he must keep up the 
 bluff; everything depended upon doing that. 
 
 He wished success for his mission into the North ; 
 but quite as much did he wish to play as fair as pos 
 sible with this young woman who was making a deeper 
 impression on him than any woman had ever made 
 before. 
 
 Again it was the noisy sledge dogs that rescued 
 Jensen from his embarrassment regarding Miss Ker- 
 rison s question. He was framing some sort of a 
 vacuous statement about having met Springvale at 
 Harvard as an explanation that might satisfy her de 
 sire to know how he had first become acquainted with 
 the sick man of the charcoal burners camp, when both 
 teams of animals tied outside the cabin broke into 
 a chorus of vigorous howls that sounded like Bed 
 lam let loose.
 
 A TRUCE FOR THE NIGHT 55 
 
 Loud as was the canine pandemonium, it could not 
 drown a bull-like voice heard roaring vociferous salute 
 toward the cabin. 
 
 " Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! " bellowed the voice outside, as some 
 one began to beat vigorously on the cabin door. 
 " Pete Saint, what s matter, you ban dead ? Why 
 you don t open door for Big Dan ? " 
 
 Peter Saint stumbled toward the door. Miss Ker- 
 rison got up and peered confusedly about, as if search 
 ing for some place in which to conceal herself, as she 
 whimpered in frightened tones: 
 
 " It is Dan the Swede. I was afraid they would 
 send him. To think it should be that ignorant beast, 
 when there were others that might have come." 
 
 Jensen gathered from her actions that Miss Ker- 
 rison was for some reason terrified at the prospect of 
 meeting this latest visitor the storm had brought to 
 the Little Babos camp. He attempted to reassure 
 her. 
 
 " I beg you will not be alarmed, Miss Kerrison," 
 he declared, trying to speak as comfortingly as he 
 could. " You may feel assured that no harm can 
 come to you while Peter Saint, Babe, and myself are 
 here. Even if I lose the use of my other arm," he 
 added with a rueful smile, as a dart of pain in the 
 injured limb shot toward his shoulder, " I think Babe
 
 56 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 would offer ample protection against a dozen; she is 
 very efficient, I assure you." 
 
 " I must trust you," she whispered hurriedly, com 
 ing so close that he caught the intoxicating perfume 
 of her hair and, placing one hand on his arm, " I 
 fear that man coming as I would the very fiends of the 
 infernal regions ; but I must force myself to be agree 
 able to him ; why I cannot tell you now, but I must. 
 He is the primal brute personified. Try, try hard to 
 understand that I am only acting a part that is forced 
 upon me." She spoke very earnestly, and it was dif 
 ficult for Jensen to resist the temptation to draw her 
 close in his arms and comfort her as he would have 
 comforted a foolishly frightened child. 
 
 " This much I will tell you," she was adding, when 
 the door of the cabin was thrown open, and Miss 
 Kerrison had no opportunity to finish her sentence. 
 
 His huge form surrounded by a whirlwind of snow 
 and sleet, bringing with him a gust of icy air that 
 was enough to chill even the warmest clad mortal to 
 the very bone, there came into the cabin what Alan 
 Jensen might, at first, have taken to be some gigantic 
 blond cave man caught up through some miracle from 
 past ages and dropped in this isolated hut on the 
 Little Babos. 
 
 This last traveler of the night was nearly seven
 
 A TRUCE FOR THE NIGHT 57 
 
 feet tall, with arms the size of an ordinary man s 
 thighs, arms that reached clear to his knees and ended 
 in hands so vast it seemed incredible they could be 
 human. A tremendous cannon-ball-shaped dome of 
 skull came to a point in a prognathous, blond-bearded 
 jaw of massive proportions, a jaw that was overshad 
 owed by bushy brows and evilly twinkling blue eyes. 
 
 The vast bulk of him, nightmarish and ungainly, 
 was awesome, yet his most amazing feature was that, 
 although clothed above the waist in a flimsy blue shirt 
 that scarcely concealed his hairy breast, he appeared 
 to feel the zero temperature no more than an ordinary 
 person would have felt a summer breeze. On his 
 back he carried a heavy canvas tote bag. 
 
 With another bellowing salute to Peter Saint, the 
 giant lumbered toward the supper table and began 
 cramming great fistfuls of food into his mouth, like a 
 famished animal. Jensen stood before the fire watch 
 ing the man, Miss Kerrison at his side. One of her 
 hands rested lightly on Jensen s arm; yet not so 
 lightly but that he felt the tremor in her fingers. 
 
 Suddenly a growl from Babe drew Jensen s atten 
 tion away from the Swede. The big wolf-collie evi 
 dently did not relish the advent of this newest arrival 
 at the camp; she was crouched in the center of the 
 room, the hair along her spine standing stiff and
 
 58 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 straight as a cockatoo s plume, her every muscle 
 tensed. The dog had all but leaped upon the back of 
 the Swede, when the sensitive ear of Peter Saint 
 seemed to catch the note of anger in her growling un 
 dertone, and he darted wiry fingers within her steel 
 collar, fetching her up short and standing, almost 
 choking the breath from her body. 
 
 " Baby ! " he chided angrily. " Why you don 
 be ave? Deese ees wan fine beeg man from Camp 
 Argyle. Wat you teenk, eh, what ? You suppose he 
 eese wan huskie malamute dat you mus fight wid, 
 eh, what ? " 
 
 Babe, refusing to be subdued by her master s firm, 
 but good-natured chidings, continued her deep- 
 throated snarls, voicing them now so loudly that even 
 the Swede turned about from his food-cramming at 
 the table and glanced her way. 
 
 As Dan the Swede saw Peter Saint holding the 
 form of Babe half in the air, while she struggled with 
 all her strength to break from him, he began to tremble 
 in all his great body as he cried in what was now a 
 whining treble : 
 
 " Pete Saint ! Don t let her yump. For the love 
 of God, don t let her yump. She ban de loup-garou. 
 Don t let her yump ! " his final word was a shriek. 
 
 It was then Jensen realized that, in spite of the
 
 A TRUCE FOR THE NIGHT 59 
 
 man s enormous bulk and muscular development, Dan 
 the Swede concealed in his breast the heart of a rank 
 physical coward. 
 
 Evidently Babe had long nourished an unconquer 
 able antipathy toward the Swede, for it was necessary 
 for Peter Saint to take her into a dark corner and 
 chain her there before she would remain at all quiet. 
 Even then she continued, at every movement of the 
 giant Swede, to bare her teeth viciously and make 
 appealing whines to be released.
 
 WHAT CREWLY DISCOVERED 
 
 BACK in New York Chief Hilkie was having his 
 own little peck o trouble with Case BM432. 
 His idea that he could quickly solve matters by find 
 ing the initial source of the white metal obtained 
 from pitchblende was not panning out according to 
 expectations. 
 
 Every known radium mine in the world had passed 
 under the inspection of his department. Every grain 
 of by-products obtained in reducing pitchblende had 
 been traced from mine to final destination. Noth 
 ing developed. 
 
 As a matter of fact the white metal now identified 
 as " ithite " seemed to be without commercial use, as 
 yet. Chemists were experimenting with it and had 
 expectations that it might be put to practical utility 
 later. In the meantime " ithite " was being stored, 
 and practically every ounce so far produced could be 
 accounted for. 
 
 " It is barely possible," droned one dry-as-dust old 
 government chemist to Chief Hilkie, " that some
 
 WHAT CREWLY DISCOVERED 61 
 
 subtle transmutation takes place in gold coin under 
 certain conditions that changes it to " ithite " ; we are 
 experimenting along those lines now ; but it will take 
 much time, sir, much time." 
 
 The chief swore earnestly beneath his breath at the 
 muddle-headedness of all slow-moving, long-winded 
 chemists in general and went to his own office to listen 
 to a report from one of his operatives who had been 
 tracing the back track of Springvale, the young man 
 who had died in the charcoal burners camp. 
 
 Secret Service operatives usually work in pairs ; it 
 tends not only to more effective service, but it also 
 enables one man to turn in a report while the other 
 man remains on the job. It was only because the 
 chief thought so little of his clue that he had not sent 
 another man to follow Jensen immediately after get 
 ting his telephone message from Burlington. 
 
 It was a man named Crewly, a stout, curt-speaking, 
 smooth-faced fellow, who had come in to report re 
 garding what he and his co-worker, Varick, had dis 
 covered in regard to Springvale. 
 
 " Well, we found out who that fellow Springvale 
 was and considerable about him," said Crewly, as 
 he sat at the chief s desk in the Treasury Build 
 ing. 
 
 " Bully ! " laconically answered Hilkie. " Is it a
 
 62 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 lead ? The department is crowding me mighty hard ; 
 they want developments." 
 
 " Springvale s home was in Duluth," said Crewly. 
 " He was by birth an Englishman, but was educated 
 at Harvard, took a special course in mining engineer 
 ing at the Institute of Technology, went to South 
 America and fought with the Argentine rebels when 
 they overthrew Vastro. Came back and went to work 
 for the Kerrison syndicate, locating prospects and 
 laying out mines in Alaska." 
 
 " Worked for the Kerrisons, did he ? " broke in the 
 chief. " That s odd, may be important, too." 
 
 Chief Hilkie knew a little of the Kerrisons, two 
 brothers banded together in a close corporation 
 known as the Kerrison Syndicate. They were often- 
 est referred to as the " Gold Kings." They had 
 done much to develop the resources of Alaska, yet they 
 were not popular men. J. J., the older of the two, 
 owned a couple of newspapers in his home State and 
 had once made an unsuccessful attempt to break into 
 the United States Senate. Since then the Kerrison 
 Syndicate had been continually involved in labor 
 troubles. The fact that he could not boost himself 
 into a seat in the Senate was said to have thoroughly 
 soured the disposition of old J. J. and made him a 
 very devil to work for.
 
 WHAT CREWLY DISCOVERED 63 
 
 " Varick and I went up to that charcoal camp near 
 Burlington," continued Crewly, " got the body of 
 Springvale, and took it to his mother at Duluth. 
 His father is dead. Springvale was still supposed 
 to be working for the Kerrison people ; but for some 
 reason I could not discover, his mother felt very hard 
 against the Kerrisons. The death of her only son 
 broke the old lady down completely." 
 
 " What sort of a chap was this Springvale ? " in 
 quired the chief. 
 
 " Wild," answered Crewly. " A born soldier of 
 fortune, if what his intimates say was true; clever 
 at his profession, but sticking to it for the adventure 
 rather than for fame or the money reward. His 
 mother is very wealthy in her own right, and the son 
 had no need to work, so she assured me." 
 
 " What sort of people were these intimates of 
 Springvale ? " inquired the chief. 
 
 " Mostly college chaps with the same turn of mind 
 as himself," answered Crewly. " For all his wild 
 nature, they told me Springvale was a mighty clean 
 fellow." 
 
 " Not at all the young man who would become 
 mixed up in a counterfeiting plot, you think ? " asked 
 the chief, who seldom failed to pump his subordi 
 nates dry of their individual opinions, in addition to
 
 64. A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 getting all the actual facts they were able to dig 
 up. 
 
 " No-o," answered Crewly a trifle slowly, as if 
 considering the matter in every light. " Not in any 
 ordinary counterfeiting scheme ; but if some one were 
 to come along with a plan bigger than was ever imag 
 ined before, he was the sort that might possibly be 
 come interested, just for the bigness of the thing, 
 the novelty and the adventure it promised. That s 
 the way I catalogue Springvale. But Varick and I 
 have traced down his every movement for the last 
 three years, since he left Tech, and there doesn t 
 seem to be a thing that isn t open to free daylight 
 except his stay in the Argentine, which no one seems 
 to know much about." 
 
 " Married ? " inquired Chief Hilkie. 
 
 " No, and, like his sort, very shy of women." 
 
 " Where was he going when he hit the charcoal 
 burners camp ; did you find that out ? " 
 
 " On his way to the region above Ungava and 
 lower Labrador; the Kerrisons seem to have been 
 combing that territory for mining possibilities for 
 several years; they have had several mining pros 
 pectors up there, at one time or another, under Koyal 
 license. Springvale had been down to make a re 
 port and was on his way back when he went insane
 
 WHAT CREWLY DISCOVERED 65 
 
 from some injury or illness. All these men of theirs 
 were back and forth continually." 
 
 " Tim ! not much in that," sighed the chief regret 
 fully. " Springvale might have come by that money 
 as naturally as you or I. It is very likely to have 
 been his expense money furnished by the Kerrison 
 people." 
 
 " By George ! " The chief straightened galvan- 
 ically up in his swivel chair as if he had suddenly 
 been struck with the surprise of his life. 
 
 " Say," he continued hurriedly, " you and Varick 
 follow on hot-foot after Jensen; don t lose a second, 
 but get to him as quick as you can. You ll be able 
 to pick up his trail at Lake Lucann in upper Quebec, 
 where I last heard from him. He was striking out 
 for what he thought was a place called the Little 
 Babos Camp on the Little Babos Kiver. It s in 
 definite, but do the best you can. Get to him; find 
 out what he knows and send Varick hot-foot with a 
 report to the nearest telegraph station as soon as 
 anything turns up. It s rather late to go into that 
 country, but you ll have .to make the best of it. I 
 must hear from Jensen. I believe I made a misplay 
 in taking that lead of his so lightly. It looks bigger 
 to me now, and if it s what I think, he has had too 
 little experience to handle the thing alone."
 
 66 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Crewly got up to go, buttoning his coat as if he 
 were already on the way. He was accustomed to 
 just this sort of sudden twist of things. 
 
 " How about the K.N.W.M.P. ? " he inquired, as 
 he strode toward the door. " Any help there ? " 
 
 " The Northwest Mounted Police ? I think not. 
 Ungava is rather out of their regular territory. If 
 you should strike any of them, however, you can 
 flash your shield and make inquiries. I ll dictate a 
 letter of exact instructions, write a check for expense 
 money, and have them handed to you when you board 
 the twelve-forty-two for Quebec to-night. That s a 
 rough country up there ; get yourself thoroughly out 
 fitted at Quebec, or, better still, fit out at Lake 
 Lucann, if possible. Keep in touch with me as long 
 as possible by telephone and telegraph. Take along 
 one of those Telefunken portable wireless outfits and 
 try to use it after you get beyond the regular wires ; 
 Varick can operate. It may reach me and it may 
 not, but there s a relay at Cape Sable; it s worth a 
 try. I m going to the New York headquarters ; send 
 your reports there." 
 
 Crewly hurried away to prepare for his trip north. 
 Immediately after his departure, Chief Hilkie began 
 to press push buttons on his desk at a furious rate, 
 summoning men from every corner of the building
 
 WHAT CREWLY DISCOVERED 67 
 
 and dispatching telegrams to half a dozen different 
 States of the Union. The chief s mind had fallen 
 afoul of another big idea and, with his usual en 
 thusiasm, he was swinging all his guns into action. 
 Previously Chief Hilkie had been chasing out that 
 mysterious mine of " ithite " ; now he wanted to 
 know all that it was possible to learn about the Ker- 
 rison people. Chief Hilkie sometimes made mis 
 takes, yet they never caused his next effort to be pur 
 sued with any the less ardor.
 
 VI 
 
 THE CAJOLING OF DAN THE SWEDE 
 
 BEFOEE Dan the Swede entered the cabin on 
 the Little Babos, the fire had died down, leav 
 ing the room somewhat poorly lighted. Being busy 
 with the desire to gratify his stomach, he had no 
 ticed neither Miss Kerrison nor Alan Jensen. After 
 chaining Babe in her corner, Peter Saint threw fresh 
 logs on the blaze, and the big man first appeared to 
 catch sight of the habitan s two guests. With a 
 brusque glance at Jensen, the Swede stopped his eat 
 ing and strode toward Miss Kerrison. Thrusting 
 out a greasy paw and with his jaws still munching 
 food, he roared: 
 
 " Hi ! Hi ! My eye ! But I ban surprised ! 
 Here ban Miss Mallabee! Hallo, Miss Mallabee. 
 You ban glad see Big Dan, I bat you ? " His face 
 broke into what he probably intended should be a 
 most fetching smile, but his distorted features turned 
 it into a vile leer. 
 
 Jensen s heart dropped. She had lied to him.
 
 CAJOLING OF DAN 69 
 
 Her name, it seemed, was Mallabee, not Kerrison. 
 Or perhaps she was in the habit of owning to more 
 than one name ? Jensen had built up in his heart a 
 cherished dream of something much finer than this. 
 Well, the dream was shattered now ; yet he felt like 
 beating the big man s face into a jelly for that leer. 
 
 " Come, come, my man, you ll have to mind your 
 manners better than that," said Jensen impulsively. 
 " Don t you know enough to wash that filthy hand of 
 yours before you offer it to a lady ? " 
 
 Jensen frowned darkly as he stepped between the 
 outstretched greasy paw of the Swede and the young 
 woman whom he must now call Miss Mallabee. 
 
 The Swede broke into a roaring guffaw that fairly 
 shook the rafters of the cabin, and Jensen could 
 scarcely believe his own eyes when he saw Miss Mal 
 labee step forward, grasp the Swede s huge, dirty 
 fist in both of hers and shake it warmly, as she de 
 clared with a rather forced laugh: 
 
 " He doesn t understand, Dan ; old friends such 
 as we don t mind a little thing like that, do we ? " 
 
 " Ay tank not," answered the Swede. " Miss 
 Mallabee and Big Dan ban good friends all right, 
 Mist Mist " 
 
 " Let me make you acquainted," said Miss Malla 
 bee, cooaujg- tt> his relief. " This is Mr. AJan, Ker-
 
 70 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 rison, Mr. Daniel Larsen. Shake hands, gentle 
 men." 
 
 She gently touched Jensen s arm, and he thought 
 he caught a meaning glance from her eyes. Since 
 she had already shaken that great expanse of greasy 
 fingers, he could do no less. In his grasp they felt 
 like a bunch of squirming eels. 
 
 " Hello, Mist Kerrison. I ban damn glad to see 
 you," saluted the Swede, eyeing Jensen s athletic 
 form from head to heels with an approving glance. 
 " Ay tank you ban damn fine man." He, too, ac 
 cented the expletive and seemed to watch Jensen s 
 face keenly with those pig-like eyes of his as he did 
 
 80. 
 
 It suddenly came to Jensen with the impact of 
 complete conviction that this man, of all the three 
 who had arrived at the Little Babos camp, was the 
 true " messenger from the North " alluded to in the 
 note, and that the tote bag the man carried on his 
 back contained the package Springvale had been com 
 ing for. If this were true, he knew it would not do 
 to antagonize this Swede. 
 
 " Hello, Big Dan," he saluted in return, as he 
 shook the Swede s hand. " I m damn glad to know 
 you, too." 
 
 Big Dan s features broke into a broad grin. " Jas,
 
 CAJOLING OF DAN 71 
 
 Ay gas you ban all right ; damn ban the word, 
 Mist Kerrison." 
 
 " That s what," nodded Jensen. " I think you 
 are the man I was sent up to meet here, and, if I 
 don t mistake, that tote bag on your back contains 
 a package I am to take with me on the return trail." 
 Jensen reached out his hand and touched the big 
 fellow s pack. 
 
 The Swede backed away slightly as he answered: 
 " Mabbe yes, mabbe no ; we skall see about that later ; 
 yust now I tank I have some more chuck. Ay ban 
 mighty hongry, Ay tole you. Come on, Miss Malla- 
 bee, you and Big Dan skall eat supper together while 
 Pete Saint and this man ban smoke pipes by the 
 fire." 
 
 The Swede grasped Miss Mallabee s arm, and the 
 two marched off toward the supper table as if the 
 best of friends. Jensen watched them, puzzled, and, 
 it must be confessed, rather disgusted. The young 
 woman might be playing a part forced upon her, yet, 
 he thought, she had no need to play it quite so 
 naturally. The more he saw of the big Swede, the 
 greater became his antipathy toward him. 
 
 Peter Saint busied himself tidying up the cabin 
 for the night. Babe growled in her corner, occa 
 sionally essaying a flying leap in attempting to snap
 
 72 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 her chain. Outside the other dogs were now quiet, 
 save for an occasional querulous whine. The storm 
 still raged with unabated fury. Jensen filled his 
 pipe from the jar of Perique on the shelf above the 
 fireplace and threw himself at full length on a bench 
 in a shadowed corner where he had a fairly clear 
 view of Big Dan and Miss Mallabee seated at the 
 table. 
 
 Dan the Swede, gormandizing his food like an ani 
 mal, appeared to possess the appetite of one. Miss 
 Mallabee sat opposite him. For all his coarseness, 
 the big Swede seemed to yield a rough sort of defer 
 ence to her, and this action Jensen could understand 
 least of all. 
 
 He could not hear their talk, for they spoke low, but 
 the Swede still wore his tote bag fastened by shoulder 
 straps, though he had discarded the tump line. Sev 
 eral times Jensen saw Miss Mallabee make motions 
 as if urging the Swede to remove his pack, at which 
 Big Dan shook his head in denial. 
 
 Finally, having somewhat appeased his desire for 
 food, Dan got up from the stool on which he sat and 
 moved around the bench on which Miss Mallabee 
 was seated. 
 
 The cumbersome tote bag interfered with his 
 seating himself on the bench, and Jensen saw Miss
 
 CAJOLING OF DAN 73 
 
 Mallabee arise with a good-natured laugh and begin 
 to unbuckle the straps that encircled the Swede s 
 massive shoulders. At first Big Dan offered some 
 protest to this ; but she playfully drew one hand down 
 his cheek, and he suffered her to continue. 
 
 Having released the bag from his shoulders, Miss 
 Mallabee was for throwing it into a corner ; but Dan 
 would not permit that. He took it from her hands 
 and carefully placed it beneath his feet, after which 
 the young woman resumed her seat on the bench, and 
 they continued their conversation in low tones. 
 
 Jensen s injured arm had been paining him furi 
 ously for some time ; but as he continued to lie quiet, 
 and the fumes of the Perique soothed his nerves, it 
 began to feel easier. 
 
 Whether it was the effect of Peter Saint s generous 
 supper or the heat of the room he did not know ; but 
 after a few moments he began to be drowsy and sev 
 eral times caught himself almost dropping off into 
 sleep as he lay there on the bench musing about his 
 quest. 
 
 So far he could not consider that any epoch-mark 
 ing progress had been made on Case BM432. That 
 there was something crooked going on between them 
 that made these people at the Little Babos camp fear 
 the Secret Service he was certain of. And they
 
 74 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 knew the man Springvale, and Springvale had had 
 the spurious coin in his possession. All this con 
 vinced Jensen that he was on the right track; but 
 just how far Miss Mallabee, Peter Saint, and Dan 
 the Swede were involved in the counterfeiting he 
 could not decide. Neither the Swede nor the hab- 
 itan appeared to possess a sufficient degree of in 
 telligence to be either at the head, or even close to the 
 head, of so extensive a counterfeiting plan. They 
 were more likely subordinates who understood little 
 or nothing of what was really going on. Yet there 
 was no telling about Peter Saint; he was a puzzle; 
 at times Jensen entertained a conviction that the man 
 was not at all what he appeared to be on the surface. 
 When it came to Miss Mallabee, Jensen was also 
 obliged to acknowledge himself to be considerably at 
 sea. Very reluctantly he had placed her in his 
 scheme of things as close to the focal point of the 
 entire affair, yet at no time since she had first ap 
 peared in the cabin had he been able to erase from his 
 memory that peculiar, pathetic appeal of sadness in 
 her eyes and in the mask of her face. Around it he 
 had been pleased to weave a rather romantic little 
 dream; she knew all about this big counterfeiting 
 plan, but in the actual working out she had no part ; 
 she just knew and was sorry, that was all. Thus
 
 CAJOLING OF DAN 75 
 
 does beauty and a melancholy glance silence the most 
 sober common sense when youth appeals to youth in 
 the flush of its first adventure. 
 
 That the young woman really knew most of the 
 facts he wanted to know he felt reasonably sure, yet, 
 at times, it was extremely difficult for him to even 
 hold to this idea in the face of her air of good breed 
 ing. Yet, again, when he remembered how she had 
 deceived him regarding her name, and when he saw 
 her exerting coarse feminine blandishments in cajol 
 ing Dan the Swede to discard his tote bag he was 
 almost ready to believe anything of her. 
 
 Jensen suddenly opened his eyes. As he at 
 tempted to turn his head, the cramped condition of 
 his limbs and numbed shoulders indicated that he 
 must Jiave dropped off into complete sleep. It was 
 fearfully hot in the room now, he thought, yet he 
 was not sweating, and his mouth felt as dry as a piece 
 of wool. Peter Saint was nowhere in sight ; neither 
 could Jensen hear him moving about anywhere. The 
 firelight showed Babe stretched out on her side in 
 her corner asleep ; the twitching muscles of her legs 
 indicating that her dreams were of recent animosi 
 ties. Dan the Swede and Miss Mallabee were still 
 seated on the bench across at the other side of the 
 room.
 
 76 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Jensen attempted to rise to a sitting position ; the 
 exertion made him faint and giddy, and a furious 
 twinge of pain shot down his limb. He became 
 aware for the first time that his entire left arm had 
 swollen to such size that it almost filled the sleeve of 
 his mackinaw coat, and the bandages Peter Saint had 
 adjusted felt like bands of steel crushing the very 
 bone. Lifting his head, for he could not arise, try 
 as he would, Jensen looked down at his hand; the 
 skin was all blotched with purple, the hand swollen 
 greatly. Like the crushing down of a heavy weight, 
 it came to him that this must be blood poisoning 
 from either the axe cut made several days back or 
 from the bite of Peter Saint s dog, he did not know 
 which. The thought of what this meant to his mis 
 sion into the North made him even more faint and 
 sick. And now he began to sense strange and out 
 landish ideas, utterly foreign to all sane thought, at 
 tempting to crowd into his brain. 
 
 As Jensen looked toward Miss Mallabee and Dan 
 the Swede, undecided whether to call out or to re 
 main quiet, he noted that Big Dan was sitting oddly 
 quiet, his feet still resting upon the tote bag, but 
 with his head hanging strangely. Miss Mallabee was 
 slowly moving away from him. Jensen thought he 
 knew what it meant ; Big 1 Dan^ his hfeavy bofy made
 
 CAJOLING OF DAN 77 
 
 logy by the tremendous supper he had recently par 
 taken of, must be asleep. 
 
 Having drawn entirely away from her seat beside 
 the Swede, Miss Mallabee reached down and lifted 
 one of Big Dan s feet from the tote bag. Slowly, 
 gently, the huge splay foot was lowered until it rested 
 upon the floor. Then the other foot was softly re 
 moved in the same manner, and Jensen saw her begin 
 to drag away the tote bag, inch by inch. 
 
 Soon she deemed it safe to move more rapidly, 
 and grasping the bag with both hands, she dragged it 
 toward the fire. Crouching there, she drew a cased 
 hunting-knife from her bosom and began to rip away 
 the canvas covering with quick, nervous movements. 
 
 In an instant Jensen realized that whatever Big 
 Dan the Swede carried in his bag, it was of as great 
 interest to Miss Mallabee as it was to him ; it put a 
 gleam of hope into his heart that she might not be 
 mixed up in this colossal counterfeiting plot to her 
 discredit after all. 
 
 Just what was in the bag he could not see, for Miss 
 Mallabee merely ran her arm in where she had ripped 
 open the canvas and appeared to be searching for 
 something. Finally she drew out a folded paper, 
 opened it, glanced for an instant at the contents, and 
 then thrust it into the bosom of her waist. Then she
 
 78 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 drew from the bag several irregular discs of flat white 
 material and held them toward the firelight to inspect 
 them. Even from the distance where he lay Jensen 
 could see that these circles she held in her hand bore 
 the impressions of double eagles ! 
 
 Miss Mallabee drew a gold coin from her skirt 
 pocket and matched it against one of the white discs. 
 
 In his eagerness to lose no movement of the young 
 woman, Jensen attempted to turn his body so that 
 he might gain a clearer view. The pain thus caused 
 must have made him cry out, for, in his hectic, half- 
 bewildered condition, he heard his own voice utter 
 a mumbling shout. 
 
 As the sound of his cry split the silence of the 
 cabin, Miss Mallabee tossed the white discs quickly 
 into the fire and crouched lower in startled attitude 
 over the opened bag in an effort to conceal it. Dan 
 the Swede lifted his head. Even his sleep-dazed 
 brain sensed conditions with that unerring instinct 
 nature imparts to those who live much in the open. 
 With a brute-like bellow, he rushed toward the kneel 
 ing woman and twisted his great fingers about her 
 throat as he shouted : 
 
 " Yon ban treacherous cat, Kerry Mallabee ; you 
 ban worse than wolverine. Damn you, you try to 
 make fool of Big Dan ! "
 
 CAJOLING OF DAN 79 
 
 With gripping fingers, the Swede bent the young 
 woman s form across his knee and gazed down evilly 
 into her wide, staring eyes that shone like spots of 
 fire against the dead blue-white of her face. 
 
 For an instant she gasped and struggled weakly, 
 then lay quiet across his knee, and her body relaxed.
 
 VII 
 
 HATE OF THE WOLF 
 
 AT sight of the young woman being so cruelly 
 strangled, Jensen was overcome with blind 
 fury. A world of love for the woman and hate for 
 the man filled his heart. Calling all his lagging 
 energies into play, he arose to his feet, only to stagger 
 headlong for a single step and crumple impotently 
 to the floor; the fever raging in his swollen arm had 
 rendered him more helpless than a child. 
 
 For an instant the Swede gazed down into Miss 
 Mallabee s staring, unseeing eyes, his own features 
 distorted with animal-like rage. Then his mood 
 changed, and he broke into a horrid, gurgling chuckle, 
 drew her face closer and upward toward his own, and 
 began to cover her lips with kisses, mouthing, mean 
 while, mingled curses and coarse terms of endear 
 ment. 
 
 Jensen, lying there helpless, could bear no more; 
 he closed his eyes with a shuddering intake of breath 
 only to open them again as a quick inspiration raced 
 through his maddened brain. Babe, in her corner,
 
 HATE OF THE WOLF 81 
 
 snapping and snarling at the length of her steel 
 chain; Babe, with her wolf heart nursing a terrific 
 hate of the Swede! He had not sufficient strength 
 to arise, but he thought he might manage to roll his 
 body over and over until he reached her side. 
 
 At the cost of infinite pain, he gained the dog s 
 side. With one desperate effort of his good arm he 
 loosed the snap that caught chain to collar and yelled 
 shrilly : 
 
 " At him, Babe ! Good girl, get him ! " 
 
 It was enough. Her wolf soul seared with the 
 cherished hate of years, Babe, the big wolf-collie, 
 shot through the air, a flaming yellow streak of fur 
 and gleaming fangs. True as an arrow in her aim, 
 she caught the Swede fair upon his right shoulder 
 with the full impact of her one hundred and fifty 
 pounds weight, knocking him backward to the floor. 
 Then, with a snarling cry, her iron jaws clamped 
 about his throat. 
 
 A moan of fright broke from the Swede s lips as 
 he felt the fury of Babe s hurtled form, a cry that 
 became a stifled whimper, as the dog s jaws crunched 
 home upon his throat. Coward though he was at 
 heart, the instinct of self-preservation made the 
 Swede fight. Fastening his fingers in the dog s yel 
 low hair, he fought to twist her head away from his
 
 82 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 throat. It was impossible for him to loosen the grip 
 her hate held fast. 
 
 Certain that unless he could release them quickly, 
 death was in those fangs crunching relentlessly into 
 his spine, the Swede now attempted to roll his huge 
 body over and get Babe upon her back beneath him. 
 The vast bulk of the man was more effective at this 
 sort of game, and his skill as a wrestler enabled him 
 to finally turn the dog, first onto her side and then 
 beneath him. But the pain of her jaws would not 
 permit him to take advantage of his position and 
 bring his full weight crushing down upon her lungs. 
 Those teeth, biting home into his very spinal mar 
 row, making every nerve in his body cry out with 
 acute agony, weakening each muscle at its source of 
 energy, and paralyzing his very brain itself, rendered 
 him well nigh helpless. He could only hug the body 
 of the dog in his arms and roll blindly across the 
 floor moaning with pain. 
 
 It was wolf uppermost in the dog s nature now, 
 and Babe s iron grip upon the Swede s neck grew 
 tighter, until finally the pain-crazed man was forced 
 to one last desperate effort. 
 
 As the room began to turn black about him, he 
 managed to arise to his feet, dragging the dog with 
 him. Then, fastening his fingers in Babe s jaws, he
 
 HATE OF THE WOLF 83 
 
 pried them open and thrust her from him. But it 
 was too late, the dog had done her work. With a 
 staggering lunge, the Swede hurtled dizzily forward 
 into the fireplace, dead, scattering glowing brands 
 right and left across the cabin floor. 
 
 Miss Mallabee lay senseless where Big Dan had 
 cast her when the dog s body struck him. Her hate 
 appeased, Babe was barking and dashing at the door 
 that led into the second room of the cabin. The 
 thick, furry skin where Jensen had lain upon the 
 floor before the fire when his arm was dressed was 
 blazing furiously. The dry, tinder-like logs of the 
 cabin floor were afire in half a dozen other places 
 where the brands scattered by the Swede s body had 
 caught. In a few moments the entire building would 
 be ablaze. 
 
 Beset by fever and delirium, Jensen hardly real 
 ized whether the dancing flames about him were real 
 or fancy. He could do no more than lie there help 
 less, thinking over and over again : " Where was 
 Peter Saint? Where was Peter Saint? Would he 
 never come in answer to the dog s cries? Had he 
 purposely remained away ; was it a plot between Miss 
 Mallabee and the habitan that he should keep out of 
 sight while she attempted to beguile the big Swede 
 into discarding his pack ? "
 
 84 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 To Jensen it seemed an eternity ; yet it could have 
 been but a few seconds before the door at which Babe 
 was furiously barking opened, and Peter Saint stuck 
 out his tousled, satyr head, enquiring sleepily : 
 
 " Baby, be quiet ! Why den you don let Sin 
 Petair sleep, what, eh ? " 
 
 Jensen had just strength enough left to shout : 
 
 " The cabin is ablaze. Big Dan fell into the fire 
 place and scattered the fire all over the floor; it s 
 burning in a dozen places. The Swede is dead ; get 
 Miss Mallabee out quick." Then he lost conscious 
 ness, and his voice trailed off into a whisper. 
 
 Peter Saint s sensitive nose had already caught the 
 odor of burning fur and flesh. He reached down 
 and laid one hand on the dog s head as he cried : 
 
 " By Gar, dere s sure wan beeg fire loose heere 
 somewhere. Show Sin Petair de young lady, queek, 
 my Baby! Queek, queek, B&by, de young lady, 
 Meese Mallabee ! " 
 
 Catching the habitan s meaning after he had re 
 peated Miss Mallabee s name several times, Babe led 
 her master to where the young woman lay inert upon 
 the floor. The flames had almost reached her skirts ; 
 a moment more, and her clothing would have been 
 ablaze. 
 
 Picking up her limp form in his arms, Peter Saint
 
 HATE OF THE WOLF 85 
 
 ran stumbling toward the outer door, found it, threw 
 back the bar, and carried her outside, only to return 
 quickly as he cried to the dog : 
 
 " Now dese young man, Baby ! Show me where 
 is dese young man of de lettair, my good Baby ! " 
 
 Blind as he was, the habitan appeared to accurately 
 sense conditions from the dog s cries and actions, and 
 to realize that it was no use to attempt to save the 
 cabin, that little more than human lives and perhaps 
 a few necessities could be rescued. 
 
 After Jensen had been dragged outside where the 
 cool air quickly revived him, the habitan and his dog 
 returned to make- what salvage they might of provi 
 sions, blankets, and clothing. 
 
 Cursing the fever and the weakness that held him 
 captive, unable to help, Jensen lay motionless upon 
 Peter Saint s sledge, surrounded by a howling horde 
 of wildly excited dogs, the storm beating about his 
 head and the blazing cabin making the scene appear 
 like a dream of the infernal regions. 
 
 The wind sent spiral clouds of sparks whirling 
 madly upward into the air. Above the roar of the 
 storm could be heard the crash of timbers as they 
 fell snapping into the pit of flame. The funeral 
 pyre of Big Dan the Swede lacked nothing of cruel
 
 86 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 The biting cold soon brought a little strength to 
 Jensen s body, lowered his temperature, and drove 
 away the images of delirium that had beset his 
 thoughts. He buried his swollen arm in the snow 
 and felt grateful for the slight temporary ease it gave 
 him from the bitter pain. Then he arose shakily to 
 a sitting position and looked about for Miss Mallabee. 
 She was standing close by, gazing toward him with 
 an odd look wreathed about her sensitive mouth and 
 somber eyes. The keen outer air must have brought 
 quick recovery to her, as well as himself, he thought. 
 
 The instant he caught that odd look in the young 
 woman s eyes, Jensen realized its meaning. Peter 
 Saint and the dog were exerting all their efforts to 
 ward saving whatever might be possible from the 
 burning cabin, while he was sitting idle watching 
 them. She thought him a coward, and this was 
 hardest of all to bear; yet what could he say? It 
 was not for him to tell her that it was he who had 
 loosed the dog when she was being strangled across 
 the knee of Dan the Swede ; that even now his head 
 so reeled with fever that her form swayed like a 
 wraith in his sight. There was nothing he could 
 say ; she must think whatever her heart prompted her 
 to think. 
 
 Something in the man s attitude, perhaps the un-
 
 HATE OF THE WOLF 87 
 
 mistakable record of agonizing pain in his features, 
 or the unnatural brilliance of his eyes, brought the 
 true-hearted woman in Kerry Mallabee to the sur 
 face. 
 
 She knelt impulsively beside him in the snow, lift 
 ing his swollen arm tenderly, as she cried in grieved 
 tones: 
 
 " You are hurt, terribly. See how your arm is 
 swollen? The hand is purple and burning hot. 
 Why didn t you tell me of this before ? It must be 
 blood poisoning from Babe s teeth." 
 
 Whether it was the pain returning to his injured 
 arm or an excess of feeling at the young woman s 
 tender sympathy he did not know; but something 
 made Jensen crumple up backward again, weak as a 
 baby, as he heard Miss Mallabee shout to Peter Saint, 
 who was now busying himself straightening out the 
 duffle he had been able to rescue from the burning 
 cabin : 
 
 " Peter ! Oh, Peter ! Bring me your medicine 
 case quickly. This man is desperately ill ! He must 
 have quinine and strychnine immediately." 
 
 Peter Saint and Babe came running toward her 
 through the whirl of snow and sleet. 
 
 " Eh, what ees eet you ask, Meese ? Deese mede- 
 cine case, eh ? Eet ees lef een de burning cabin."
 
 88 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " But we must have it," she urged. " It is life 
 or death. We must, must," she shouted in his ear 
 above the roar of the storm. " Can t you under 
 stand, the man is dying with blood poisoning, per 
 haps contracted from Babe s teeth ! " 
 
 The habitan hunched his shoulders and thrust for 
 ward open palms helplessly as he answered : 
 
 " But the cabin, she burn." 
 
 " There s Babe, surely you can send her in once 
 more ? " pleaded Miss Mallabee, as she placed her 
 hand on the habitan s arm and looked into his sight 
 less eyes with tears in her own. " I believe Babe 
 can find the medicine case if you tell her where it is ; 
 she is a wonder in that way." 
 
 " Wall ! Wall ! " hesitated Peter Saint, pleased at 
 the compliment she had paid his dog. " Dere ees 
 always wan chance, surely, eh what, my Baby? 
 Shall we try for breeng out dat medicine case on shelf 
 in corner? That black bag in corner? In corner 
 shelf ; you know where eese dat, my Baby, eh, what ? " 
 
 After several repetitions, the dog appeared to un 
 derstand what was required of her. She raced 
 eagerly toward the doorway framed in flames. Peter 
 Saint called her back 
 
 "You wait one leetle tarn, my Baby," he said 
 rather sorrowfully. " I fee., you so the fire don t
 
 HATE OF THE WOLF 89 
 
 catch so queek." He began to rub great handfuls of 
 wet sleet into her long hair until she was plastered 
 all over. Off she darted again, only to hear her mas 
 ter call her back once more before she had time to 
 reach the door. Rubbing snow on his own clothing, 
 and fastening his fingers in Babe s collar, Peter Saint 
 bent down and said tenderly : 
 
 " By Gar, my Baby, I theenk we both go, eh, 
 what? Sin Petair, he don send heese Baby any 
 where he don go heemself. By Gar, I theenk 
 not." 
 
 It was a gallant act, yet Kerry Mallabee attempted 
 to restrain the habitan, telling him it was no time for 
 him to take such risk. He would not heed her pro 
 tests. With wild cries, as if each were attempting 
 to cheer on the other, both dog and man disappeared 
 inside the cabin door. 
 
 Jensen saw them last as two silhouetted black fig 
 ures cut dimly against a curtain of ugly red flames ; 
 the man bending low, grasping the dog s collar with 
 one hand and shielding his face with the other arm. 
 It seemed as if only a miracle could bring either 
 man or dog out alive from that raging hell of fire. 
 
 A moment after the habitan and Babe had van 
 ished from sight, a sudden shift of wind came luckily 
 from the south, beating back the flames and smoke
 
 90 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 toward the north corner of the cabin. It was their 
 one chance. 
 
 While Jensen and Miss Mallahee watched with 
 eager, straining eyes, two forms rimmed in red glare 
 came crawling back toward the door, but coming 
 pitifully slow. The dog could barely move for the 
 weakness engendered by her smoke-choked lungs, yet 
 she dragged her master bravely on. 
 
 " Babe ! Good Babe ! " cried Kerry Mallabee, 
 rushing toward them and trembling with eagerness 
 in every limb. " Come on ! Come on ! >J 
 
 At last Babe gained the door. With one final, 
 desperate leap, she dragged her master out into a 
 pile of snow just as the cabin roof crashed in with 
 a mighty roar, and the hungry flames shot up fifty 
 feet into the air. And Peter Saint hugged that 
 precious medicine case in his arms, even as he and 
 Babe rolled about in the snow to quench the smould 
 ering flames that dotted the furry coat of one and the 
 clothing of the other. 
 
 Happily neither Peter nor the dog Babe had 
 breathed the killing flames into their lungs during 
 their courageous dash into the burning Little Babos 
 cabin ; hardened veterans of the wild North that they 
 were, it was but a moment before both felt quite 
 themselves again.
 
 HATE OF THE WOLF 91 
 
 " Give me the medicine case," cried Kerry Malla- 
 bee, as Peter Saint stood up, beating the snow from 
 his smouldering clothes and gulping in great mouth- 
 fuls of the cold air to clear his lungs of smoke. 
 " You are a brave man, Peter Saint, and Babe is a 
 dear, as I always knew she was. Now we must see 
 what can be done for this man. I am afraid he is 
 very ill." 
 
 Jensen lay supine on Peter Saint s sledge, seeing 
 little, hearing less. He was trying with all his 
 strength to fight back the nightmare of ideas that 
 seemed closing in on him. He knew it was delirium, 
 knew it meant the failure of his mission if he al 
 lowed it to get the best of him, for then would come 
 loose babblings and talk that would be certain to re 
 veal the true purport of his journey into the North. 
 
 He was muttering hoarsely to himself with 
 clenched fingers and nails that bit savagely into his 
 palms when Kerry Mallabee bent over him, holding 
 out some liquid in a medicine spoon. 
 
 " No ! No ! I won t give in, I say ; I won t, 
 don t you hear ? I won t ! " he mumbled childishly, 
 in a feeble attempt to stiffen his own courage in the 
 fight against the fever and delirium. 
 
 " But this is something that will help you," she 
 said tenderly, thinking his angry protest was ad-
 
 92 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 dressed to her. " Drink it quick like a good boy," 
 she added, with an encouraging smile, as she at 
 tempted to force the spoon between his clenched 
 teeth. 
 
 At the sound of her voice, Jensen caught himself 
 together, opened his lips, and swallowed the draught. 
 
 "That s fine!" said Kerry Mallabee. "Now 
 swallow this." She poked an oblong gelatine cap 
 sule of quinine into his mouth. 
 
 It was an heroic dose of strychnine that Kerry 
 Mallabee had administered to her patient; but it 
 brought strength and courage to fight the fever and 
 the delirium. He looked up into her sad eyes with 
 a grateful thanks as he felt the drug bite into his 
 muscles, almost instantly speeding up the action of 
 his lagging heart with strong bounds. He felt so 
 much better, he attempted to arise. 
 
 "No, no," chided Miss Mallabee, "you mustn t 
 try to get up ; lay back on the komatic and try to be 
 comfortable; save all your strength for the journey 
 that is ahead of us. Now that the cabin is burned, 
 we must try to beat out the storm on the back trail 
 to where you may be cared for. Can you stand a 
 ninety-mile sledge journey ? " she asked, as she 
 placed one soft hand on his burning brow. 
 
 It was a wonderfully cool and comforting hand
 
 HATE OF THE WOLF 93 
 
 that smoothed back Jensen s hair; and the brown 
 eyes that looked questioningly down into his would 
 not have been without their appeal to a man in all 
 his strength. On Jensen, beset with pain and the 
 nameless horror of delirium that seemed only wait 
 ing an instant of relaxation to rush in and overcome 
 him, the effect was to almost bring the tears welling 
 to his eyes. One moment more of her pitying com 
 fort, and Alan Jensen might have forgotten his loy 
 alty to Chief Hilkie and told Kerry Mallabee that, 
 even though she were the ringleader in this colossal 
 counterfeiting plot that was puzzling the United 
 States Treasury department, he was with her, heart 
 and soul, to the end. 
 
 It may be that Kerry Mallabee caught some hint 
 of his state of mind in the sick man s look and did 
 not wish to press her advantage, for she suddenly 
 stood up with a curious little gesture of impatience 
 and shouted a call to Peter Saint, who had been at 
 tempting to build a temporary shelter from material 
 saved from the fire. 
 
 " Load the komatics, Peter," she cried. " We ll 
 make the back trail for Camp Argyle. Put the best 
 part of the duffle on my sledge ; load yours light and 
 make a soft bed for this sick man." 
 
 " But Camp Argyle ! eet ees ninety, yes, almost
 
 94 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 wan hon red mile, an theese bliz she blow like, wall, 
 like the very hell, Meese," protested the habitan. 
 " We can res here until the wind she go down. See, 
 Sin Petair have almos feenish wan vairy comfor able 
 shelter." He pointed to the tarpaulin lean-to on 
 which he had been working. 
 
 " No, no," answered Kerry Mallabee. " Pack 
 your duffle as quickly as you can ; it will be daylight 
 by the time you are ready. This man must be taken 
 where he can be properly cared for, and Camp Argyle 
 is the best and only place for that." 
 
 " But, Meese, there is the M sieu ; wot weel he 
 say ? There is the danger, Meese, of " 
 
 Swiftly and lightly Kerry Mallabee s fingers 
 touched the blind habitan s lips, as she shot a fright 
 ened glance Jensen s way and whispered : 
 
 " Hush ! We can t be sure of this man. Perhaps 
 Tom Springvale did send him on the errand when he 
 failed, perhaps he didn t; that matter must be set 
 tled at Camp Argyle. Until then be careful what 
 you say." 
 
 " Vairy well, Meese, as you say ; but, as for my 
 self, I theenk your father, the M sieu " 
 
 Again she stifled the habitan s prattle with a hush 
 of caution and pushed him on to making prepara 
 tions for the journey, bustling about herself, and
 
 HATE OF THE WOLF 95 
 
 doing a man s work in helping to straighten out the 
 dogs, tightening thongs that secured the loads, or 
 dragging some needed remnant of salvage from the 
 burning cabin. 
 
 A word here and there of their conversation had 
 been caught by Jensen s hearing, rendered super- 
 acute by the drug he had taken; yet it was as in 
 explicable to him as so much Choctaw. Even had 
 his mind not been beset by the nightmare of fever, 
 he could not have felt really certain that their talk 
 had reference to Case BM432. The only thing that 
 made him believe it had was Kerry Mallabee s ac 
 tions with Big Dan s tote bag, and the fixed idea he 
 had held to since that night at the charcoal burners 
 camp that he was on the right track to a solution of 
 the counterfeiting mystery. 
 
 The sledge teams of Peter Saint and Kerry Malla- 
 bee consisted of six regular dogs and a spare dog for 
 each sledge, all stout Labrador brutes weighing sev 
 enty pounds or more; lighter than huskies, but ex 
 ceedingly wiry and able to do a greater day s journey 
 than the heavier animals. They were attached to 
 birchwood sledges or komatics by leather traces 
 buckled to collars that slipped on over their heads. 
 The trace lines were kept from trailing by a back- 
 band fastened under each dog s belly. Peter Saint
 
 96 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 did not harness his dogs in either the Esquimau 
 brace or the Labrador pack fashion; but ran them 
 tandem, as do the Northwest Mounted Police, thus, 
 with an intelligent lead dog, obtaining a steadier 
 and more concerted pull, with less effort for the 
 driver.
 
 VIII 
 
 THE OLD FOX UNBENDS 
 
 THE Treasury Department was prodding Secret 
 Service Chief Hilkie rather hard these days. 
 There were a few thoroughly frightened men con 
 nected with the department who wanted to see de 
 velopments in Case BM432 without delay, and they 
 kept after the chief constantly. Many high bank 
 executives also found the situation more than mildly 
 disquieting. 
 
 The somewhat loquacious Atterbury, he who had 
 first discovered the spurious coin, was heard to say 
 in a National Northern directors meeting that he 
 " would give an eye to know where that white stuff 
 came from and just how much of the bad coin was in 
 circulation." 
 
 " Why, great heavens, Kenrick ! " he remarked to 
 another bank officer. " It may be possible that two- 
 thirds, yes, more, of the gold coin in the United 
 States is queer, and we don t know it ; can t go chop 
 ping up in every bank to find out, either. Can you
 
 98 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 imagine what such a condition means? It would 
 send every rapacious " 
 
 Atterbury was allowed to say no more. Ken- 
 rick s hand caught him by the shoulder and shook 
 him into silence, as he whispered hoarsely : 
 
 " My God, Atterbury, keep quiet ! Get your 
 nerves under control, man. We all realize what this 
 thing means if it gets abroad in Germany or Japan ; 
 but don t you be the one to gabble." 
 
 Kenrick s features were the color of a shark s 
 belly from the many sleepless nights he had lately 
 endured, and his worried appearance was enough to 
 stop the fussy Atterbury from saying anything fur 
 ther in that meeting ; but it did not prevent him from 
 calling Chief Hilkie of the United States Secret 
 Service on the telephone a few hours later and in 
 quiring what were the latest developments in Case 
 BM432. 
 
 Chief Hilkie could give Atterbury no news of 
 late developments because there was none. The 
 chief was, at present, concentrating his personal at 
 tention on looking up J. J. Kerrison, the Kerrison 
 Syndicate of gold mines, and the details of the con 
 duct of their business. 
 
 The chief s manner of going at a thing was to 
 begin at the top and work down. While it seemed
 
 THE OLD FOX UNBENDS 99 
 
 absurd to suspect old J. J. himself, a man worth 
 close to a billion dollars, of being concerned in a 
 counterfeiting plan, the chief was a person who never 
 took anything on earth for granted, and he greatly 
 desired an interview with J. J., both to observe the 
 man and to gain his permission for a thorough in 
 vestigation of the Syndicate s business. The Ker- 
 rison Syndicate was an enormous concern with thou 
 sands of employees. Who knew what some of these 
 employees might be up to ? Not the chief ; therefore 
 he was making it his business to find out. 
 
 J. J. Kerrison, more important half of the Ker- 
 rison Syndicate, had the name of being a hopeless 
 old curmudgeon and a man about as easy to get to 
 as though his permanent residence had been a sub 
 marine in the bottom of the sea. Chief Hilkie came 
 slam up against this condition immediately he be 
 gan to look up the Kerrisons in connection with 
 Case BM432. 
 
 It was because of his many residences that it was 
 difficult to gather definite information regarding the 
 goings and comings of old J. J. He had a home 
 in Butte, Montana; one on upper Fifth Avenue, 
 New York ; another on Derrick Island, off the coast 
 of South Carolina he owned the entire island 
 and still another in the center of an enormous game 
 
 U ITT-
 
 100 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 preserve of several thousand acres in northern Ver 
 mont. But, as if this were not enough to satisfy 
 any ordinary mortal, old J. J. maintained a palatial 
 cruising yacht, the Undine, and often spent several 
 months of the year plowing the seven seas aboard 
 of her. Information as to where he was at any par 
 ticular time was about as difficult to obtain from his 
 subordinates as it would be to extract emeralds from 
 an oyster; as a matter of fact, even his closest sub 
 ordinates were rarely aware of his precise where 
 abouts for more than a day or two at a time. 
 
 Regarding Henry T. Kerrison, the remaining 
 brother of the Kerrison Syndicate, even less definite 
 information was available; he seemed a most myste 
 rious personage. If old J. J. was a curmudgeon, 
 Henry T. must have been a very hydra-headed mon 
 ster, according to common report. Yet, just at pres 
 ent, the Kerrison Syndicate was at war with the labor 
 element, and common report was often inspired by 
 trouble-fermenting newspapers, so it might be wise to 
 subtract a certain percentage from common report 
 and, perhaps, allow Henry T. but one head. 
 
 Although his normal residence was Philadelphia, 
 Chief Hilkie s best information had it that Henry 
 T. Kerrison lived at the Chateau Frontenac in Que 
 bec during the summer, and in southern France dur-
 
 THE OLD FOX UNBENDS 101 
 
 ing the winter. Chief Hilkie finally gained the in 
 formation that Henry T. had been cruising in 
 northern waters aboard his brother s yacht, the 
 Undine, for six months past and was not expected to 
 return for a year, at least. 
 
 Henry T. was a widower with one daughter, a very 
 handsome and queenly young woman, who accom 
 panied her father wherever he went. Since Henry T. 
 was off on a sea cruise, and since old J. J. was popu 
 larly reported to be the dominating head of the Ker- 
 rison Syndicate, Chief Hilkie set a generous pack 
 of his watch dogs hunting out the real lair of the 
 old fox himself, expecting to get a personal inter 
 view as soon as he located the man. 
 
 It was from the Treasury Department that Chief 
 Hilkie secured a bit of important information about 
 this time that served, to him, to lend confirmation 
 to his idea that somewhere within the Kerrison 
 Syndicate was the source of those spurious double 
 eagles that had caused such consternation among the 
 directors of the National Northern Bank. 
 
 This bit of important information was that the 
 Kerrisons were in the habit of turning the product 
 of their mines in at the various mints in the shape of 
 bullion ; that in receipt for this bullion they accepted 
 returns largely in gold coin; and that all their em-
 
 102 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 ployees were invariably paid in gold. The Kerri- 
 son Syndicate might have accepted currency or bank 
 drafts for their bullion, but they usually elected to 
 take coin. Why? wondered Chief Hilkie. 
 
 Chief Hilkie made it a point to have several of his 
 men on the ground immediately after a Kerrison 
 pay day. From Kerrison s employees he thus se 
 cured a liberal selection of the coins used in paying 
 them. The money tested perfect. 
 
 The chief had already put in many anxious days 
 trying to run down the source of the gold in the 
 National Northern Bank, but, since there was no 
 means of identifying any particular lot of coin, and 
 owing to the fact that a considerable portion of the 
 bank s gold coin had been in the vaults for years, 
 that proved a barren field. Chief Hilkie did find 
 that the Kerrison Syndicate had at various times 
 made deposits of gold with the National Northern, 
 but as for separating the Kerrison coin from others, 
 that, said Atterbury, " was like attempting to iden 
 tify the initial source of several gallons of selected 
 sea water." 
 
 It was through merest chance that Chief Hilkie 
 finally located J. J. Kerrison. Returning to his 
 hotel from an evening at the theater in New York, 
 the chief stepped off at Thirty-fourth Street into the
 
 THE OLD FOX UNBENDS 103 
 
 men s cafe of the Waldorf for a nightcap. While 
 partaking of his refreshment, his attention was at 
 tracted by the actions of an old man seated at one 
 of the tables, who seemed to be engaged in some sort 
 of an altercation with a waiter. 
 
 He was a tall, thin old fellow, wearing a quite 
 obvious wig and a silk hat of a vintage several years 
 remote. His sharp nose set in an ivory face shook 
 with anger, as he protested that his charge for vichy 
 and milk should not include the cost of an entire 
 siphon of vichy, since he had actually partaken of 
 but a scant fifth of its contents. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! I ll not be robbed," the old man de 
 clared in a protesting treble. " No doubt you have 
 served that same siphon to several patrons before 
 you brought it to me, and charged them all full 
 price. I ll not pay it. Make my charge check out 
 properly, or I ll not sign it." 
 
 The old man s clothing was not shabby ; yet neither 
 was it strikingly new or expensive. The chief 
 noticed a grin on the face of Bob Adams, the bar 
 clerk, who had just served him his drink. 
 
 " Looks a little like John D ; who is the tightwad ? " 
 inquired the chief good-naturedly. 
 
 " You wouldn t think it ; but he s even richer than 
 John D.," said Bob Adams, a fat, rosy-cheeked chap,
 
 104 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 very popular with the hotel patrons. " That s old 
 J. J. Kerrison, the gold king, worth near enough to 
 a billion for all general purposes." 
 
 The chief dropped his glass to the mahogany bar 
 with a bang and was instantly all alert attention. 
 
 " Stopping here ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Yes," grinned Bob, who knew the chief well. 
 " Under the name of Mr. McCann. Always reg 
 isters that way ; afraid some one might expect a decent 
 tip if he signed his own name, I suppose. But he 
 never has fooled a soul in the building that I know 
 of; they all know who he is." 
 
 " What room ? " asked the chief. 
 
 " Suite C. on the second floor," answered Bob. 
 
 Chief Hilkie drew a card from his pocket and 
 stepped across to where old J. J. sat alone at a table 
 sucking his milk and vichy through a straw and mum 
 bling querulously to himself. 
 
 Chief Hilkie laid his card on the table where it 
 could not escape the old man s eye as he asked politely : 
 
 " May I have a few moments talk with you, Mr. 
 Kerrison ? " 
 
 The loose lower skin of his face drew into taut 
 wrinkles as old J. J. looked up from beneath his 
 hairless, overhanging brows with watery eyes. 
 
 " Well, well, what is it ? What do you want, Mr.
 
 THE OLD FOX UNBENDS 105 
 
 Kiltie er, Hilter, I would say Hilkie ? " stam 
 mered J. J., peering at the card with half-shut eyes 
 and fumbling in his vest for his glasses. " I don t 
 suppose I can prevent you from talking to me, if 
 you are disposed to do so, and these hotel servants 
 all appear to be without an ounce of competence in 
 either serving guests or protecting them from annoy 
 ance. Sit down, Mr. Hilkie; don t stand there 
 like a tailor s dummy. Sit .^own, man, sit down, I 
 say." His voice arose to a whining bark. 
 
 The old man s querulous garrulity had given Chief 
 Hilkie the very opportunity he desired to study his 
 man before engaging him in conversation. He took 
 a seat at the narrow table, beckoned to a passing 
 waiter, and ordered a glass of milk and vichy. 
 
 " Here, waiter," cackled J. J., as the servant was 
 turning away after taking Chief Hilkie s order. 
 " You needn t bring another siphon for this gentle 
 man. He may just as well be served from mine. I 
 daresay he ll be willing to pay for half of it." 
 
 Chief Hilkie smiled inwardly behind his pince- 
 nez; outwardly he was all suave politeness. He 
 thought he knew just how to take this old man with 
 his soured disposition. 
 
 " Quite right, waiter," he said. " This siphon will 
 do nicely for both of us. And put a dash of brandy
 
 106 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 in my milk; it is an excellent thing to make one 
 sleep soundly." 
 
 " Is it, indeed ? " said J. J., leaning forward, all 
 interest at once. " I must try a little. You may 
 bring me a glass of milk with a dash of brandy in 
 it, too, waiter." 
 
 Somewhere within that voluminous storehouse of 
 useful ideas the chief carried about beneath his hat 
 was filed away the bit of information that J. J. Ker- 
 rison was a crank on health fads and that he suffered 
 severely from insomnia. The chief had made a 
 bull s-eye with his first shot. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Hilkie, or shall I call you Chief Hil- 
 kie ? I see you are connected with the United States 
 Secret Service and I suppose you are Chief Hilkie ? 
 What is it you wish to talk to me about ? " Old J. 
 J. looked out craftily from beneath his wrinkled eye 
 lids. 
 
 " Chief Hilkie is correct. I desire to obtain your 
 permission for several of my men to become tem 
 porary employees of the Kerrison Syndicate and to 
 have them observe the various processes your gold 
 goes through in its progress from the mine to the 
 mint." 
 
 Had Chief Hilkie asked the head of the Kerrison 
 Syndicate for half of his fortune the old man could
 
 THE OLD FOX UNBENDS 107 
 
 scarcely have appeared more astonished. For an in 
 stant the chief thought Kerrison was about to have 
 an apoplectic fit. His hands quivered, his face be 
 came suffused with blood, and he coughed and sput 
 tered over his drink as if he were about to choke. 
 The chief was stepping around the table to assist him 
 when J. J. found his voice and spoke. 
 
 " I ll not permit it," he protested, his long nose 
 shaking with anger. " I ll have the first man shot 
 who attempts to meddle in my business. The govern 
 ment has no use for me, nor have I for them. I ll 
 extend no favors." Then, as he noted the surprise 
 in Chief Hilkie s eyes, the old man caught himself to 
 gether. His thin lips split into an apologetic smile, 
 and he began to rub his dry hands together as he said : 
 " There, there, you must pardon an old man. I 
 have been so continually harried by newspaper men 
 and government investigators that my feelings are 
 not always under complete control." 
 
 " I can appreciate your feelings fully," said the 
 chief suavely. " I often find in my own cases that 
 there seems to be no limit to which the newspapers 
 will not go in their quest for news." 
 
 The chief might have added that one of Kerrison s 
 Montana papers had been a capital offender in this 
 regard ; but he refrained.
 
 108 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Kerrison had been covertly studying Hilkie ever 
 since the chief had taken his seat opposite. The 
 chief s face was about as smooth and impassive as a 
 marble sphere; yet there were few men who could 
 fool this wily old money grubber for many moments 
 at a time. To rake in a billion dollars all by yourself 
 requires, above all things, an acute understanding of 
 the workings of the human brain. Chief Hilkie was 
 clever, his record proves that, but it may be doubted 
 if he were in every way a mental match for J. J. Ker 
 rison, even when the old man was in his dotage. 
 
 " You say you wish an opportunity for several of 
 your men to observe the mechanical details of my 
 mining business/ said Kerrison, and the polite suav 
 ity of his tones now matched those of the Secret 
 Service chief. " May I inquire what is the object 
 of this strange request ? " 
 
 " You may," answered the chief, and a close ob 
 server might have noted that the fingers of both his 
 hands clamped firmly upon the table edge, and his 
 eyes seemed trying to bore into the very secret soul 
 of the man seated opposite, as he continued in a con 
 fidential, matter-of-fact tone : "I shall have to let 
 you into what has heretofore been a closely guarded 
 government secret. We have lately discovered in cir 
 culation a number of extremelv clever counterfeit
 
 THE OLD FOX UNBENDS 109 
 
 gold coins. So far, the source of this bad money has 
 not been discovered; to be quite frank, we have not 
 even a well-founded suspicion of where it came from. 
 The usual course in such matters is to first look up 
 every known maker of the queer, as we term them. 
 That has been done in this case, and we are satisfied 
 that no former maker of counterfeit is behind it. 
 Now we are attempting to trace the coin itself and 
 to search out the source of the materials from which 
 it is made." 
 
 " I see, I see ; very interesting," said Kerrison be 
 tween barking coughs. " And I presume you think 
 it possible that some of my employees are concerned 
 in the affair ? " 
 
 " That was one of the phases of the case we thought 
 worth investigating," answered the chief. 
 
 " Under those circumstances, then, I see no cause 
 for refusing your very reasonable request," said Ker 
 rison, pushing aside his empty glass and laying one 
 blue-veined hand patronizingly on the chief s arm. 
 " I will see that you are afforded every facility for 
 carrying out your plan. You may be certain," he 
 added, with an ingratiating smile playing about his 
 thin lips, " that I shall be glad to offer every possible 
 aid to the government when it is engaged in running 
 down so nefarious a thing as counterfeiting legal
 
 110 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 tender, no matter what my personal feelings may be. 
 Call and see me at my hotel at nine to-morrow morn 
 ing, Chief Hilkie. I will then give you a letter to 
 my general superintendent; this letter will open to 
 you every avenue of investigation you may desire. 
 I should be delighted to attend to the matter at once, 
 but, unfortunately, Mr. Ward, my secretary, whose 
 mother is ill, is spending the night with her up at 
 One Hundred and Fortieth Street. I suppose to 
 morrow morning will do quite as well, will it not, 
 Chief ? " Kerrison s tones were as polite and oily 
 as though he were a courtier addressing a king. 
 
 " Oh, quite," answered the chief, who knew just 
 about how much use it would be to insist on immediate 
 action with this autocratic old man. 
 
 " Very well, then ; we will say nine to-morrow 
 morning. And now I must bid you good night, it is 
 much past my hour for retiring," said J. J., arising 
 and holding out his hand. " I am, of course, as I 
 said before, very glad to be of what small assistance 
 to you I may in this matter and trust you have al 
 ready pardoned my earlier petulance." 
 
 The chief had spoken his polite good night wishes 
 and turned to walk away, when Kerrison beckoned 
 him back. 
 
 " By the way, Chief, may I inquire how extensive
 
 THE OLD FOX UNBENDS 111 
 
 this counterfeiting plan you have unearthed is ? " He 
 drew one bent forefinger down the side of his nose 
 and eyed the chief intently. 
 
 " I believe it is quite extensive," answered Hilkie. 
 " Just exactly how much bad money has been dis 
 covered the Treasury Department has not informed 
 me ; but I believe there is supposed to be considerable 
 of it in circulation." 
 
 " Um-m, a most deplorable condition of affairs, I 
 am sure," murmured Kerrison, as he walked toward 
 a door that led into the main corridor of the hotel. 
 His great shoulders were a trifle stooped, and he 
 tapped the marble floor impatiently with his cane as 
 he walked. 
 
 " The old man seems to be much broken," said 
 Chief Hilkie to Bob Adams as he gazed after the tall 
 form of the retreating Kerrison. 
 
 Had the chief been permitted to observe J. J. Ker 
 rison after he had reached his suite on the second floor 
 he might have changed his mind about that indi 
 vidual s being much broken down in health. 
 
 Kerrison had no sooner gained the seclusion of his 
 own suite than he began to summon servants and to 
 bustle about as though he were in the midst of a busy 
 market day, instead of being quartered in the Wal 
 dorf-Astoria hotel at a little after midnight.
 
 112 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Before the little gold clock on his mantel had 
 chimed the half hour after one Kerrison had dis 
 patched no less than five cablegrams, had sent a 
 dozen telegraphic messages and had engaged in ex 
 tended conversation with at least four men on the 
 long distance telephone. 
 
 Most of these messages were in cipher; but two, 
 at least, as the night switchboard operator informed 
 Chief Hilkie the next morning, were inquiries to 
 influential bank officials regarding the extent and 
 importance of the recently discovered counterfeiting 
 of gold coins, one being to Atterbury of the National 
 Northern. 
 
 A little before nine o clock the following morning 
 Chief Hilkie s motor car drew up before the main 
 entrance at the Waldorf, the chief alighted, went in 
 side the hotel, handed his card to the desk clerk 
 and requested that it be dispatched to Suite C. 
 
 " Suite C is vacant," said the busy clerk with an 
 impassive stare, before he had even glanced at the 
 card. 
 
 " What ! " spluttered the amazed chief. " Isn t 
 Mr. Kerrison I mean Mr. McCann stopping 
 here?" 
 
 " Mr. McCann left before breakfast this morn- 
 ing."
 
 THE OLD FOX UNBENDS 113 
 
 The chief swore earnestly beneath his breath. 
 " Where has he gone? Did he leave no message for 
 me, for Chief Hilkie ? " he asked hurriedly. 
 
 The clerk glanced down at the card and was in 
 stantly all affability. " Oh ! I beg your pardon, 
 Chief, I didn t notice who it was," he apologized, as 
 he leaned across the counter confidentially. " We 
 have no idea where Mr. Kerrison has gone ; he never 
 leaves any forwarding address. Perhaps the hack 
 stand man might help you, Mr. Kerrison usually 
 takes a public carriage; or maybe the house detec 
 tive. If there were any forwarding marks on his 
 baggage, the head porter would be likely to know 
 about it." 
 
 Both house detective, head porter and cab-stand 
 man proved barren of information, as Chief Hilkie 
 soon discovered. The only information he was able 
 to gather was from the night girl on the telephone 
 switchboard, and that was of small account. 
 
 " The old fox ! " said the chief, as he re-entered 
 his motor-car to depart. " Pooled me as easy as he 
 could a ten-year-old boy. Now I ll get to him if it 
 takes a leg." 
 
 At four-thirty in the afternoon on that same day, 
 Atterbury of the National Northern again attempted 
 to call up Chief Hilkie on the telephone and ascer-
 
 114 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 tain what was new in Case BM432. Chief Hilkie 
 was not to be found; he had, apparently, left the 
 city, going no one knew where. The department 
 seemed much worried over his unaccountable and un- 
 explainable absence. Despite the fact that Atter- 
 bury made it a point to call them up on the day 
 following, and on the day following that, he gained 
 no information. The chief was still among the 
 strangely missing.
 
 ON DEAD MANS TBAIL 
 
 AS Peter Saint, Miss Mallabee, and Alan Jen 
 sen left the burning Little Babos cabin and 
 started on the trail toward Camp Argyle, there be 
 gan for Jensen a heart-breaking journey of nearly 
 one hundred miles that will long linger in his 
 memory. In order to keep his weak form secure 
 on the sledge, it had been necessary to bind him there 
 with cords. Carefully as this had been done, the 
 cords cut cruelly into his flesh at every jolt of the 
 sledge runners. And the storm beat pitilessly into 
 his face, like a rain of sharp sand, for they were 
 now traveling into the very teeth of the wind. 
 
 The intense cold he neither considered nor felt; 
 thus his body temperature of 105 was not without 
 some small benefit. And continually he was trying 
 to fight back the delirium; trying by sheer force of 
 will to hold his mind to sane things and to study 
 his case. At times he found himself mentally re 
 peating the same aimless sentence over and over 
 again with futile persistence; then he would bite
 
 116 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 down hard with his jaws, clench his fingers, and 
 fairly beat his own brain into some straight path 
 of thinking that was rational and got him some 
 where. 
 
 As the sullen dawn broke and a gray, ghastly light 
 lit up the scene, he could see the wavering line of 
 dogs stretched out ahead, their gaunt brown bodies, 
 from which the steam continually radiated, rising, 
 falling, swaying from right to left with the madden 
 ing regularity of a senseless machine. He longed to 
 get out and stop that ceaseless motion ; to start them 
 fighting among themselves, anything to break up 
 that regular beat of motion as they raced on. 
 
 Occasionally the mist-shrouded figure of Peter 
 Saint would fall into his line of vision, the habitan 
 plying his whip over the beasts with merciless vigor 
 when the pace became too slow to satisfy his own idea 
 of progress. 
 
 At Peter Saint s lusty cry of, " Marechon ! 
 Marechon! Wot you theenk, theese ees some 
 parade, eh, what, my lambs? Marechon, you imps 
 of snails ! " the dogs would race madly forward for 
 a few paces. Then they would settle back into a 
 steady, weaving trot as they beat their way into the 
 storm, each with a single windward eye closed, the 
 open one watching his neighbor ahead and the faint
 
 ON DEAD MAN S TRAIL 117 
 
 signs of trail, often invisible to man, yet unmistak 
 able to these intelligent beasts. 
 
 At times they stopped for a rest, the sledges were 
 turned back to the gale, and Miss Mallabee came up 
 to where Jensen lay fighting his silent battle against 
 the fever. She would slip her warm hand into his 
 fur mitten, find the pulse in his wrist and, if the 
 need seemed to call for it, make him swallow more 
 of the bitter strychnine and another quinine capsule. 
 Since she realized the seriousness of his illness, she 
 had dropped the notion of referring to him as " this 
 man who calls himself Kerrison," and now called 
 him simply, " Boy." These slight rests and her 
 presence by his side had come to be like oases in 
 Jensen s nightmare journey. 
 
 " How do you feel now, Boy ? " she would repeat 
 softly as she counted his throbbing pulse-beat and 
 searched his face with her sad eyes. 
 
 " Better," he would always answer, no matter 
 how he might actually be feeling, and perhaps add : 
 " And thank you a thousand times for being so kind 
 to me. I really don t believe I deserve it." 
 
 " I m not worrying about whether you deserve it or 
 not; it is enough to know you need it," she would 
 answer. Then, perhaps catching his look of warm 
 gratitude, she might add : " I should probably have
 
 118 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 done as much for Big Dan the Swede, were he as 
 helpless as you are." 
 
 At this Jensen s spirits would suddenly droop most 
 unaccountably, as he thought, and he would again 
 begin to puzzle his brain over the inexplicable con 
 duct of this handsome young woman, who possessed 
 the rare ability to come very close to him, yet still 
 preserve a sense of aloofness and the mystery of 
 her womanly reserve. 
 
 When night came, they halted, and the habitan 
 managed to throw together a rough, lean-to tarpaulin 
 shelter. Then he built a fire and made coffee. Jen 
 sen s sledge bed was drawn close to the blaze, and 
 Peter Saint brought him a tin cup of coffee and a 
 handful of biscuits. He drank the coffee, but the 
 biscuits he could not force himself to swallow, even 
 when the habitan soaked them in the hot, sweet 
 drink and urged him for the sake of the added warmth 
 the food would bring to his body. 
 
 Miss Mallabee munched her biscuits, drank her 
 coffee, and then fell asleep as she sat leaning against 
 a shelter pole, so fatiguing had been the day s jour 
 ney and so wakeful her previous night at the Little 
 Babos camp. The habitan drew a heavy fur robe 
 about her form, placed a " piece " against her back, 
 then lit his pipe and began to thaw out his frozen
 
 ON DEAD MAN S TRAIL 119 
 
 mittens and pacs, as he squatted before the fire with 
 Babe close beside him. 
 
 Babe had not been harnessed in with the other 
 dogs during the day. Instead, she wore a special 
 harness of her own, to which was fastened a string 
 of tough caribou babiche, which the habitan had 
 kept wound about his wrist as they traveled, Babe 
 guiding her blind master on his way. It was she, 
 in fact, who had done the most toward keeping them 
 all on the trail, although the lead dogs on both Peter 
 Saint s and Kerry Mallabee s sledge appeared to 
 know quite well where they were expected to go and 
 to have traveled this journey many times before. 
 
 A portion of the long fur about Babe s neck had 
 been badly burned away in her dash into the Little 
 Babos cabin, and now she preferred to remain well 
 sheltered from the wind and very close to the com 
 forting fire. The remaining dogs, their stomachs 
 distended with a meal of pemmican, lay curled up 
 in the snow, their backs to the wind, appearing to 
 sleep as soundly and comfortably as though the 
 thermometer were in the forties instead of hovering 
 around the zero mark. No great amount of snow 
 had fallen, despite the twenty-four hours storm, 
 which had been mostly blinding sleet and bitter wind. 
 
 Jensen s temperature had gone down with the fall
 
 120 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 of night, and he really felt somewhat improved. 
 It is very likely that no more suitable condition to 
 combat his fever could have been found than in this 
 wealth of crisply cold air that had been constantly 
 pumped in and out of his lungs all day; that, to 
 gether with the heart-stimulating strychnine, had 
 already done much to purify his blood of the poison 
 that pervaded it and to fortify his white corpuscles 
 in their battle against the treacherous invading germs 
 of septicemia. 
 
 As he saw Miss Mallabee s head fall forward on 
 her knees and knew that she was deep in the sleep 
 of utter exhaustion, Jensen attempted to open con 
 versation with the blind habitan busying himself 
 about the fire. 
 
 " Funny thing I never met anybody actually on 
 the trail coming up to your camp," he finally said 
 musingly, after a few words of commonplace with 
 the habitan. " And those few people I did meet in 
 the vicinity seemed to fight as shy of me as though 
 I were the devil himself." 
 
 Peter Saint broke into a dry chuckle and began 
 to nod his satyr-like head. 
 
 " Sure, sure, sure," he answered. " Dere eese 
 no mans walk mooch on Sin Petair s trail. You 
 know for why ? " he asked. Then, as Jensen shook
 
 ON DEAD MAN S TRAIL 121 
 
 his head in denial, he continued : " Wall, deese ees 
 call l Dead Man s Trail/ an only devils walk eet. 
 Ever body in deese country dey say Sin Petair and 
 hees Baby ees two devil, else why dey walk about 
 widhout eyes, eh, what ? 
 
 " But why Dead Man s Trail ? " asked Jensen. 
 
 " Wall," answered the habitan slowly, as he rolled 
 the water-hardened leather of a mitten between his 
 palms to soften it, l Dere eese some pipple say dat 
 deese trail eese always travel mooch at night by 
 many men, and dat deese men is all what you call 
 gho s, dead men. Dere ees Antoine Laboucheaire, 
 he eese wan fin beeg trapper in deese country; 
 Antoine he say wan tarn back, a beeg moonlight 
 night, he see twendy, thirdy, fourdy, mabbe more, 
 mens, all w ite, lak snow, wid big w ite packs, 
 race down deese trail like mad devils. An 
 wot you theenk ? " The habitan dropped his soft 
 voice to an awed whisper. " All deese mans dey 
 leave no track behin , not wan-seengle-footstep, eh, 
 what you theenk ? " 
 
 " That s foolish nonsense," said Jensen. " Surely 
 you don t take stock in such silly, childish stories ? " 
 
 " As for me, I don t know," said the habitan. 
 " But it ees keep many pipples away from deese 
 < Dead Man s Trail, I theenk."
 
 122 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Putting two and two together, Jensen thought he 
 knew why these uncanny stories had been spread 
 abroad regarding the trail; it was probably to keep 
 prying eyes away while certain mysterious loads 
 were being moved over it. He would have given 
 much to know just what these loads consisted of. 
 Having found the habitan so garrulous about the 
 matter of the trail, Jensen thought to try him further 
 on the same subject. 
 
 " Springvale told me this was called Trail Num 
 ber One, and that there was a Trail Number Two 
 that I must keep carefully clear of," said Jensen. 
 " What s the matter with Trail Number Two ; is 
 that haunted, too ? " 
 
 " Trail Numbair Two eese always to go south," 
 answered the habitan. " Dees Numbair One, Dead 
 Man s Trail, eese go nord. Beeg Dan, he come on 
 Trail Numbair Two, he go back, eef he had not burn 
 in the cabin, on Trail Numbair One. Deese two 
 trail, dey cross at my cabin. Eet ees wot dey call 
 a station for " 
 
 How much more valuable information Jensen 
 might have gathered from Peter Saint s loquacious 
 chatter had it continued, he did not know, for the 
 habitan suddenly bit his sentence in the middle with 
 a grunt, and Jensen saw a slim hand reach over his
 
 own shoulder and touch the man s lips lightly with 
 one finger. Miss Mallabee was awake. 
 
 " You had better lie down and sleep, Peter Saint," 
 said Miss Mallabee, as she came shivering toward 
 the fire. " Bur-r-r ! I am chilled clear through. I ll 
 sit up awhile, tend the fire, and get thoroughly 
 warmed while you take a nap, Peter." 
 
 The habitan protested that he had no need for 
 sleep; but Miss Mallabee insisted and, after throw 
 ing more wood upon the fire, Peter Saint finally 
 curled up in one corner of the shelter and was soon 
 sleeping like an animal. His thin body seemed 
 thoroughly hardened to cold, for he scorned to even 
 take the usual camper s comfort of lying with the 
 soles of his feet toward the fire. 
 
 Jensen was not feeling in the slightest degree 
 drowsy and, having had some success in questioning 
 Peter Saint, he had a keen appetite for more infor 
 mation regarding this strange tangle of haunted 
 trails, mysterious packages, and still more myste 
 rious people. 
 
 That Miss Mallabee could tell him much if she were 
 so inclined, he knew ; yet he doubted if she would and 
 hesitated to draw her out. That she had seemed to 
 feel entirely different toward him since realizing the 
 desperate need of his illness, he was certain ; no
 
 124 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 woman could instinctively appropriate and so softly 
 speak that affectionate title of " Boy " she had 
 lately bestowed upon him, unless there was some 
 actual interest in the man himself behind it. 
 
 And Jensen knew, in his heart, that his own feel 
 ings toward this fascinating young woman, whatever 
 might be her connection with the counterfeiting plot 
 he was running down, had passed beyond the stage 
 of mere interest. He had often read that it was a 
 common failing of sick men to fall hopelessly in love 
 with their nurses; he was now passing through the 
 experience. 
 
 Lying there, thinking these things over, Jensen 
 finally came to the conclusion that whatever informa 
 tion was to be gathered about Case BM432 on the 
 trip to Camp Argyle must be gained entirely inde 
 pendent of Kerry Mallabee. He wasn t going to 
 make a tool of her. That matter being satisfactorily 
 adjusted, he felt much relieved mentally and closed 
 his eyes to try and sleep. 
 
 Alan Jensen had not been connected with the 
 United States Secret Service long enough to render 
 him calloused toward criminals of the feminine 
 persuasion, at least ; neither had his experience with 
 women been so extensive as to endow him with any 
 great understanding of feminine nature, so he was
 
 ON DEAD MAN S TRAIL 125 
 
 obliged to stumble along as best he might under these 
 handicaps. He had settled the matter, however, with 
 his own nature. 
 
 Kerry Mallabee had been studying Jensen s face 
 for some time as he lay by the fire, warmly wrapped, 
 on Peter Saint s sledge. She could tell by his ir 
 regular breathing that he was not yet sleeping. 
 Finally she spoke. 
 
 " How do you feel now, Boy ? " she asked, not un- 
 tenderly. 
 
 Jensen had been lost in thought, and the question 
 startled him. He glanced up nervously. She was 
 sitting on a pack beside the fire, her back to the shel 
 ter, the blaze lighting up the warm brown glow of 
 her face, and the wandering strands of spun gold 
 hair that escaped from her hood. Her chin was sunk 
 in the palm of her hand, and her elbow rested on one 
 knee. Her sad, somber eyes seemed to Jensen al 
 most to have read his very thoughts. 
 
 " Better," he answered as usual. 
 
 " But that s what you ve been telling me all day," 
 she protested, with a little smile. " According to the 
 number of times you have registered progress, you 
 should be about one hundred per cent, more than 
 entirely well by now." 
 
 " It s real this time," he assured her, with an
 
 126 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 answering smile. " I believe the swelling in my 
 arm has gone down some, and it doesn t pain me 
 to any great extent now. See ! " he continued im 
 pulsively, as he moved his swollen hand into the fire 
 light, with a painful twist of his body. " The pur 
 ple blotches have all disappeared from my hand." 
 
 " It does have a more healthy color," she said, as 
 she bent down and inspected it. " And I think it 
 is time you had the wound dressed. Bur-r-r, it s a 
 wicked place here to do it; but if you ll grit your 
 teeth while I unroll Peter Saint s surgical dressings, 
 I ll dress it again." 
 
 At the cost of considerable effort, for she was shak 
 ing with the cold, Kerry Mallabee managed to wash 
 Jensen s arm with the pungent aseptic and to re 
 adjust the bandages. 
 
 " Did I hurt you ? " she asked anxiously, as she 
 placed his swollen arm again beneath the furs, caus 
 ing Jensen s face to turn milky white with the pain 
 that came from the necessary motion. 
 
 " Not a bit," he assured he/, with a wry smile. 
 He would have endured agony ten times greater if 
 the reward were but such nearness of her presence 
 as he had felt while she ministered to him. 
 
 " Thank you," he added, as he sank back into a 
 position of comparative comfort. " You certainly
 
 ON DEAD MAN S TRAIL 127 
 
 are a thoroughly competent physician; between your 
 strychnine, your quinine, and your surgical dress 
 ings, I m beginning to feel like a new man." 
 
 " Like somebody else besides Mr. Kerrison ? " she 
 asked, with a little moue that was not without its 
 twist of sarcasm. 
 
 The arrow found its target and again brought to 
 the surface the persistent idea that would never seem 
 to down in Jensen s mind; that she really suspected 
 the part he was playing. Yet her remark did not so 
 far abash him that he could not return her arrow. 
 
 " Not quite so changed as that, Miss Mallabee," 
 he said. " Or shall I call you l Miss Kerrison ? 
 You told me yourself your name was Kerrison, but 
 Big Dan called you Miss Mallabee. 
 
 " My name is Kerrison Mallabee," she retorted 
 a bit curtly, as she tucked the bottle of aseptic wash 
 back into the medicine case. " My friends usually 
 shorten it to Kerry." 
 
 " I am sorry I misunderstood," said Jensen con 
 tritely. " It was stupid of me." 
 
 The two fell again into silence as Kerry Mallabee 
 replenished the fire and drew her seat close in an 
 effort to warm her chilled body. Presently she 
 turned again toward Jensen and asked, with a little 
 puzzled frown overshadowing her sad eyes:
 
 128 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " Tell me just what happened in the cabin before 
 it caught fire? I have wanted to know, but this is 
 the first opportunity I ve had to ask you. The last 
 thing I remember is when Big Dan was choking me 
 across his knee, and I saw you stagger toward us and 
 fall. Peter has told me that Big Dan is dead; did 
 you kill him?" 
 
 " Babe killed him," answered Jensen ; then, in 
 answer to her questioning look, he went on to de 
 scribe the battle between dog and man in the Little 
 Babos cabin, neglecting, however, to mention his own 
 important part in the affair. 
 
 " But Babe was securely chained in her corner ; 
 did she break her chain ? " insisted Miss Mallabee. 
 
 " I think she must have, or gotten loose in some 
 way," answered Jensen rather diffidently. 
 
 Kerry Mallabee had continued to study his face 
 intently. Now she said musingly, half to herself, 
 half to Jensen: 
 
 " I don t think I understand you, quite. Peter 
 Saint has already told me that some one snapped open 
 the steel catch on Babe s collar. Surely Big Dan 
 would not be likely to do that, would he ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, if you must know then," answered 
 Jensen boyishly, " I snapped her chain. I saw what 
 a terrible fix you were in there with the Swede, and
 
 ON DEAD MAN S TRAIL 129 
 
 I knew I couldn t aid you any against the brute in 
 my helpless condition, so I managed to crawl to 
 Babe, turn her loose, and sic her on to fight him. It 
 was little, but it was the best I could do." 
 
 " Little ? " repeated Kerry Mallabee ardently. 
 " It saved me from that horrible beast of a man ; 
 isn t that something ? " Then, after a moment of 
 musing silence, she added, as Jensen made no reply : 
 " You are just a great big boy, aren t you ? I sup 
 pose that s why I call you Boy. 
 
 She stepped over to the sledge and began to tuck 
 in the furs about his form as she continued : 
 
 " IsTow you must go to sleep. We have a long, hard 
 journey before us to-morrow, and you ll need all the 
 strength you can muster to make it. I want to see 
 you wake up with an appetite equal to the biggest 
 breakfast Peter Saint can cook." Her hand lightly 
 brushed his cheek as she tucked the fur robe close 
 about his neck. " Good night Boy and pleasant 
 dreams." 
 
 Again Alan Jensen found himself wondering if 
 he were fool or wise man. That final gesture of 
 Kerry Mallabee as she adjusted the fur coverings 
 about his neck might have been a mere accident, or 
 it might have been the simple promptings of a 
 motherly heart toward a sick man; but, somehow, it
 
 130 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 reminded him uncomfortably of the moment when 
 she had unloosed the tote bag from the back of Big 
 Dan the Sweda 
 
 He finally dropped asleep to fall into a strangely 
 distorted dream of beautiful snow sirens who at 
 tempted to lure him off the path he was following 
 with sweet music, soft voices, and caressing gestures. 
 But in his dream these sirens had transparent bodies 
 and talking brains, and he could see their wicked 
 hearts beating and hear their evil minds concocting 
 schemes for his destruction, so he held firmly to the 
 right path and reached his destination safe and sound. 
 Then he awoke to find it was morning, and that Peter 
 Saint, bending over the fire, was brewing a generous 
 tin pot of that Yarguli coffee. The odor was glo 
 rious. Jensen s appetite had returned, and he man 
 aged to eat a liberal breakfast.
 
 FIGHTING THE BLIZZARD 
 
 flHlHE storm had been greatly lessened through 
 JL the night; but with daylight it began again 
 and whirled about their flimsy tarpaulin shelter with 
 greater fury than ever. Peter Saint shook his head 
 soberly as he sniffed the wind and held up one naked 
 hand to catch the feel of the air on his palm. 
 
 " Wall, my Baby," he said, " theese ees one beeg, 
 hard journey ahead deese day? She ees wan bad 
 day for make eet. Eh, what you theenk, my Baby ? " 
 
 Babe barked an expression of her determination 
 to press on, regardless of any sort of weather, and 
 tugged vigorously at her leading string fastened to the 
 habitan s wrist. 
 
 " Yairy well, my Baby, as you say ; but I theenk 
 you sing wan deeferant song before sleep tarn to 
 night, my leetle sugar-plum." 
 
 " Don t discourage us, Peter," said Kerry Mal- 
 labee, trying to be cheerful. " A storm so early in 
 the season as this can t last long." 
 
 But the weather-wise habitan disagreed. " I
 
 132 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 theenk thees ees wan beeg she-devil of a bliz," he de 
 clared, as he harnessed the dogs. " An she ees not 
 old enough yet to loose all her teeth; she steel can 
 bite." 
 
 Jensen was not feeling as strong as he had on the 
 previous evening. The unnatural exhilaration en 
 gendered by the heroic doses of strychnine he had 
 previously taken had now evaporated somewhat, and 
 though the swelling in his arm had not increased, and 
 the skin showed a fairly healthy color, he felt de 
 pressed and sensed the lassitude of the reaction that 
 came from a lessened heart-beat. 
 
 Kerry Mallabee s face looked drawn and tired in 
 the dim morning light. She spoke seldom and de 
 clared she had felt cold all through the night, in spite 
 of the fact that she was warmly dressed and sat 
 close to a roaring fire. Jensen noted her changed ap 
 pearance, and as Peter Saint was adjusting the wrap 
 pings on his sledge, he declared to the habitan : 
 
 " Let me out of the straight-jacket, Peter. I m 
 not going to ride here to-day. I d feel like a fool 
 doing it. I m well enough to walk, with a little help 
 ing tug along on the sledge runner when I get winded. 
 Miss Mallabee is all beat out and shall take my place 
 on the sledge." 
 
 Kerry Mallabee protested that she would do noth-
 
 FIGHTING THE BLIZZARD 133 
 
 ing of the sort. " You re not fit to travel on your 
 feet, Boy," she declared. " God knows what s before 
 us to-day would be hard enough for a well man ; but 
 for a man in your condition it is impossible." 
 
 " Impossible or not, I don t ride," answered Jen 
 sen stubbornly, as he crawled out of the fur cover 
 ings and squatted in the snow. " I ll sit here until 
 I freeze, unless you ride on that sledge. Why, bless 
 your heart, Girl, a little healthy exercise is the very 
 thing I need." 
 
 She looked at him curiously. " Are you delirious 
 again ? Why, I don t believe you can stand." 
 
 " Stand ! " he retorted, rising to his feet and leap 
 ing into the air. " See that ! " Then he grinned 
 boyishly as he added : " Suffering Csesar, Girl, 
 you ve no idea how those thongs you bound me on 
 that sledge with yesterday hurt. I am going to 
 fasten you in to-day, and that s the main reason for 
 my wanting to walk." 
 
 With a wan smile, for she really was about used 
 up after her two sleepless nights and the previous 
 day s hard journey in the storm, Kerry Mallabee 
 took Jensen s place on Peter Saint s sledge. 
 
 " If you will promise to let me know the moment 
 you feel fatigued ? " she bargained. 
 
 They started off. The order of travel was now the
 
 134 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 reverse to that followed on the previous day. Peter 
 Saint and Babe took charge of Kerry Mallabee s 
 komatic and the dog team, going on ahead while she 
 trailed behind with his more seasoned animals that 
 might be expected to follow with little attention. 
 
 At the habitan s encouraging cry of, " Marechon ! 
 Marechon! you beeg fat snails," they raced bravely 
 forward in the teeth of a blinding gale. It was slow 
 progress. They had to fight for every foot of the 
 way. The sledges moved easily enough, but the 
 storm had obliterated many of the signs of the trail 
 and the highly intelligent Babe, who acted as pilot, 
 became confused several times. 
 
 Whenever he discovered Babe to be in doubt about 
 the trail, the habitan would halt both teams and pros 
 pect ahead with her for a bit, murmuring soft words 
 of endearment and speaking with her as if she were 
 actually a sentient being with a reasoning brain. 
 Truth to tell, Babe appeared almost that, and never 
 failed to get her true bearings soon, whereupon they 
 would all start off again, refreshed by the slight 
 rest. 
 
 It took but a short period of this heart-breaking 
 travel against the biting wind to convince Jensen 
 that he had greatly overestimated his own strength 
 when he imagined he could keep up with the wiry
 
 FIGHTING THE BLIZZARD 135 
 
 Peter Saint. Had it not been for each short respite 
 when Babe searched for signs of the trail, he would 
 have had to give up early; but these rests served to 
 afford him breathing spells, and he took fullest ad 
 vantage of them, gritting his teeth and keeping pluck- 
 ily on in spite of his weakness and the pain in his 
 left arm that had now started up again, as the fatigue 
 poisons from the exercise filled his blood. 
 
 Finally Kerry Mallabee made him change places 
 with her for a time, and he had a longer rest. Late 
 in the afternoon they all halted, and Peter Saint 
 managed to warm up a can of coffee. It was drunk 
 without condensed milk or sugar, but it was, at least, 
 comfortingly hot; it put new vigor into their tired 
 bodies, and they struck out again for Camp Argyle. 
 
 " Tete de Loup Cache eese leetle way on," ex 
 plained Peter Saint to Jensen, as he urged on the 
 dogs. " Eet eese wan fine beeg rock wid nice warm 
 south side. We camp dere for the night. Plenty 
 firewood. Marechon, my sugar-plums ! " 
 
 Even the hard-bodied dogs were beginning to feel 
 the wrath of the storm in their wiry legs, and the pace 
 was slow. Jensen had again changed places with 
 Kerry Mallabee, and she was having a needed rest 
 on the rear sledge. For some reason Peter Saint s 
 dog team seemed more wearied than the others, per-
 
 136 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 haps because theirs had been the heavier load. Sev 
 eral times the habitan was obliged to go to the rear 
 and ply his whip vigorously because they had lagged 
 too far behind the other sledge. 
 
 As the early dusk fell, Babe found the trail more 
 difficult, and Jensen s periods of rest were consider 
 ably lengthened. Peter Saint would not halt and 
 camp, however, as he deemed Tete de Loup Cache 
 to be well worth fighting on for. During one of 
 these rests, Jensen fell into a momentary doze as he 
 sat curled up on the forward sledge awaiting the 
 habitan s return with Babe. 
 
 It was with a rather sleep-muddled brain that he 
 resumed the journey after this last respite, and they 
 had been traveling steadily on for some time when 
 he suddenly sensed the unusual quietness of the rear 
 dogs. He looked back along the white trail shining 
 in the night where their tread had stirred up the 
 snow. 
 
 There was no rear sledge in sight ! Dogs, komatic, 
 and Kerry Mallabee had disappeared, either gone off 
 the path somewhere or lagged so far behind that they 
 were lost to sight. 
 
 For an instant the bleak horror of the situation 
 almost overcame him. Kerry Mallabee wandering 
 in this barren wilderness where no man, let alone a
 
 FIGHTING THE BLIZZARD 137 
 
 woman, could possibly live for any length of time! 
 His heart went out to her with a wild longing to 
 find her quickly or to share her fate. He ran forward 
 and caught Peter Saint by the arm. 
 
 " God in heaven, man, where s the other sledge ? " 
 shouted Jensen to the habitan. " They are not fol 
 lowing. I can neither see nor hear them." 
 
 " My Gar ! Meese Mallabee ! " exclaimed Peter 
 Saint, as he halted and held one cupped hand to his 
 acutely sensitive ear. " My Gar ! I don t catch wan 
 seengle sound from dem dogs," he added in a whis 
 per. " My Gar ! My Gar ! por leetle Meese ! She 
 mus be los ." 
 
 " Think quick, man, what can we do ? There s 
 not a second to lose," shouted Jensen, as he shook 
 the dazed habitan s arm. 
 
 " There ees only wan theeng," declared the hab 
 itan. " We mus go back and fin w ere dey leave 
 the trail." In an instant he had turned his dog team 
 about and they were racing on the back track of the 
 sledges, a trail fast becoming indistinguishable in the 
 falling darkness. But for the acute nasal organs and 
 the sharp eyes of Babe, they could scarcely have held 
 to it. 
 
 Crazed with anxiety, Peter Saint and Jensen al 
 most outran the dogs, the habitan ahead, crouched
 
 138 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 over as he sped on, led by Babe with her leading cord 
 tied to his wrist. 
 
 Suddenly Jensen saw Peter Saint stagger forward 
 and fall over some obstacle in the snow. It was a 
 roll of furs and one of Miss Mallabee s mittens that 
 had been dropped from the rear sledge, as her dog 
 team had turned sharply off the trail. 
 
 In an instant the habitan was up, only to stagger 
 forward and fall again with a groan of pain. Half 
 dazed, Jensen knelt in the snow by his side, as he 
 shouted above the wind : 
 
 " What is it ? What s the matter ? " 
 
 " My Gar, I theenk my ankle she mos broke," 
 moaned the habitan. " When I go for step she mos 
 keel me." 
 
 Again he pluckily tried to stand up, but it was no 
 use; the slightest weight on his ankle made him cry 
 out with pain. 
 
 " My Gar, I guess Sin Petair he ees done for," he 
 declared sadly, as he lay back groaning in the 
 snow, while Babe barked and tugged at her leading 
 string, anxious to follow on where the rear sledge had 
 turned. 
 
 Suddenly the habitan noted Babe s excitement. 
 He listened to her barks and whimpers. " My Gar ! " 
 he said. " I theenk dees ees right trail off here, eh,
 
 FIGHTING THE BLIZZARD 139 
 
 what, my Baby ? Eet was Sin Petair and hees Baby 
 wot go astray, eh, what ? " 
 
 By her capers and whimpering cries, Babe plainly 
 seemed to indicate that the habitan s view of the mat 
 ter was correct. The wiser animals on Peter Saint s 
 komatic had kept to the correct trail and gone on with 
 Kerry Mallabee lying on the rear sledge. 
 
 " Well, that s so much to the good then," said Jen 
 sen, greatly relieved. " We should soon be able to 
 catch up with her. Now let s see what s the matter 
 with your ankle." 
 
 Decently skilled in backwoods surgery, Jensen soon 
 had the habitan s pac and thick woolen socks removed. 
 He ran his sensitive fingers over the ankle. There 
 could be little doubt about what was the matter; a 
 displaced bone was almost protruding through the 
 flesh. Peter Saint would not be able to step on that 
 foot for days. There was nothing for Jensen to do 
 but bind the injured ankle as best he could and lift 
 Peter Saint on to the komatic. 
 
 Quickly making the habitan as comfortable as 
 possible, Jensen took Babe s leading string, and the 
 two started off, leading the way on the trail taken 
 by Kerry Mallabee and Peter Saint s dogs. 
 
 As a rule sledge dogs do not often bark, the whine 
 or the growl is their common method of speech, yet
 
 140 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Kerry Mallabee s team kept up a furious howling 
 as they raced along on their late companions track, 
 appearing aware that unusual effort was expected of 
 them, that their team mates were in distress and 
 must be found. Jensen encouraged them on with 
 shouts, entirely forgetting his own illness in an ex 
 cited desire to find Kerry Mallabee and make certain 
 that no harm had come to her. The habitan plied his 
 long whip unsparingly from his seat on the sledge. 
 
 Within a short time answering howls were heard 
 in the distance. Jensen s heart gave a leap for sheer 
 joy and relief. He broke into a loud, " Hallo ! 
 Hallo ! " and imagined there came a faint, answering 
 call. 
 
 Soon a piled black shadow could be seen blurring 
 the trail ahead. It was the other dogs and the 
 komatic, bunched together for warmth and comfort. 
 But the sledge was empty. Kerry Mallabee was not 
 there ! 
 
 She had taken nothing; the sledge load was in its 
 place. The dogs were not tangled; they showed no 
 indications of having been moving undirected. It 
 was as if her team had merely been halted by its 
 driver for a rest. 
 
 For the first instant Jensen consoled himself with 
 the hope that Kerry Mallabee must certainly be some-
 
 FIGHTING THE BLIZZARD 141 
 
 where in the immediate vicinity. He shouted sev 
 eral times, thinking to let her know of their arrival, 
 and that she would soon join them. There came 
 no answer, and his heart sank. He could no longer 
 evade the realization that she was lost in this wilder 
 ness without a habitation or a human being within 
 hundreds of miles, and sheer horror again overcame 
 him so that he almost crumpled up in the snow. Then 
 he caught himself together. If Kerry Mallabee had 
 wandered off the trail, she must be found, and he 
 was the only one able to do it. 
 
 He explained matters to the blind habitan, add 
 ing : " I ll follow her tracks in the snow and soon 
 find her. She can t have gone far; she hasn t had 
 time to." 
 
 Jensen got down on his hands and knees and be 
 gan to study the snow about the back track of the 
 sledges. Peter Saint called to him. 
 
 " Here ees wan pair of sharper eyes dan yours," 
 he said, as he rubbed Kerry Mallabee s fur mitten on 
 Babe s nose. " Onderstan , my Baby ? Fin her. 
 Go!" 
 
 He handed Babe s leading string to Jensen, as he 
 added, comfortingly : " Don worry ; my leetle sugar 
 plum has wan fine nose ; she fin her queek an breeng 
 her back."
 
 142 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Babe raced back on the trail with Jensen close 
 after her. Presently she struck off to the left where 
 he could see what he took to be tracks in the snow. 
 Behind, Peter Saint shouted at frequent intervals to 
 encourage them and let them know where the sledge 
 was, though there was little danger of Babe s losing 
 her way again. Her animal instinct was worth a 
 dozen man-created compasses. 
 
 Babe answered her master s call with deep barks, 
 and Jensen kept crying Kerry Mallabee s name. The 
 dog traveled fast in her eagerness, indicating that 
 the track was fresh, and Jensen had all he could do 
 to maintain the pace with her and not drag too much 
 on the leading line. 
 
 Several times she went across gullies where the 
 snow lay deeper, and he thought his feet and legs 
 were made of lead, so difficult was it for him to drag 
 himself up. What with the pace and the shouting, 
 he was soon getting winded. Once he fell prone and 
 had to lie there; for a moment he could scarcely 
 muster strength enough to get to his feet again. An 
 instant of rest and the dogged determination that he 
 must keep on, that it meant a human life, finally 
 brought him up, and he staggered on. The wind 
 blew sharply upon his forehead, making it ache as 
 though his head were being crushed in a relentless
 
 FIGHTING THE BLIZZARD 143 
 
 vise. Soon a new phenomenon brought added weak 
 ness to his over-stimulated heart, and his brain but 
 recently recovered from delirium; the air all about 
 seemed filled with recurrent explosions of light. It 
 was only the effect of the intense cold on his strained 
 eyeballs, but it filled his mind with distracting con 
 fusion and made it doubly difficult to forge on. 
 
 " God in heaven, I can t make it ! " he muttered 
 weakly to himself, as he fell helplessly in the snow 
 for the fourth time. His whole body and brain had 
 relaxed into the lethargy of utter exhaustion when he 
 heard a half-muted cry borne down the wind. 
 
 He threw up his head and listened. Was it animal 
 or human? He could not tell. He drew Babe to 
 him, choked back her barks, and putting every ounce 
 of strength and all his anxiety behind his voice, he 
 shouted : 
 
 " Girl ! Is that you ? For God s sake, answer ! " 
 
 He listened. Very faint, through the wild whirl 
 of sleet, he thought he heard a voice, little more than 
 a whisper, yet a sound that throbbed through his 
 brain and galvanized his exhausted body into action 
 as no stimulating drug could have done. 
 
 " B-o-oy ! Here I am, Boy ! " it seemed to call, 
 and he was on his feet again in an instant, crying en 
 couragement to Babe, whose sharper ears had prob-
 
 144 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 ably sensed the meaning of that sound even better 
 than had his own. 
 
 Stumbling like a drunken man, seeing nothing be 
 fore him, yet blindly fighting on with that faint cry 
 still beating in his ears, Jensen went forward, he 
 knew not where, knowing only that the keen dog s 
 brain of Babe would lead him to her whom he sought 
 and whom his heart hungered for. 
 
 A few moments later he could make out a dim form 
 struggling toward him; then Kerry Mallabee fell on 
 his shoulder sobbing hysterically. 
 
 " Boy ! Boy ! " she murmured. " I thought you 
 were lost, and I went out to find you ! " 
 
 His heart singing with gladness at having found 
 her, hardly realizing what he was doing, Jensen held 
 her close in his arms and murmured comfortingly: 
 
 " It s all right now. We were the ones who were 
 lost; we wandered from the trail and did not dis 
 cover it for some time. Then we came back, found 
 your empty sledge, thought you were lost, and Babe 
 and I came out to search for you." 
 
 For an instant Kerry Mallabee lay unresisting in 
 his embrace, and the nearness of her sweet presence 
 seemed ample reward for all his recent suffering. 
 Then, suddenly appearing to realize for the first time 
 where she was, she broke away, and Jensen thought
 
 FIGHTING THE BLIZZARD 145 
 
 he caught a look of sad reproach in her beautiful 
 brown eyes as she said: 
 
 " We must return to Peter Saint at once. Can 
 you make it ? " 
 
 " Of course I can make it," he answered. " But 
 you ? You are trembling like an aspen with weak 
 ness. Lean on my arm, or let me carry you ? " he 
 added eagerly. 
 
 She was calmer now; refusing his arm or any 
 assistance, she said, a little coldly, as he thought : 
 
 " No, I think I can walk alone." She stumbled 
 ahead, trying bravely to fight down her weakness. 
 
 As they went on into the night, silently, side by 
 side, led by Babe, Jensen s thoughts were filled with 
 the memory of that delirious instant when he had 
 held Kerry Mallabee so close to his racing heart he 
 had felt her own beating furiously in unison. He 
 knew that had she but responded to his mood, Case 
 BM432 and her part in it would have been forgotten. 
 The realization of this treachery against the Service 
 that he had barely escaped was, in a sense, humiliat 
 ing, yet even now, as he looked toward her again in 
 the cool soberness of second thought, he could almost 
 believe the world well lost for so tender, so beautiful 
 and womanly a woman. 
 
 He had believed, for the moment at least, that he
 
 146 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 loved her, and he dreaded what that love might cause 
 him to do if it were ever returned; but she had not 
 met his mood ; she had repulsed him, and therein lay 
 safety. Yes, he thought, therein was safety for Case 
 BM432 ; in future he would be the watchful Secret 
 Service employee, and there should be no more giving 
 way to wild excitement and the mood it brought. 
 
 They finally managed to get back to the komatics. 
 Peter Saint was so overjoyed at their safe return he 
 took the wolf-collie in his arms and rewarded her 
 with innumerable fond caresses as he declared : 
 
 " She is wan bes dog in Canada, my Baby, my 
 leetle sugar-plum. She ees de eyes, de nose, an de 
 teeth for Sin Petair, who have to seet like beeg 
 lazy man on komatic with broken foot w ile dere ees 
 work for to do." 
 
 Safe now on the proper trail, they started on again 
 and soon reached Tete de Loup Cache, which proved 
 to be but a short distance ahead. It was a gigantic 
 rock with a sheer side to leeward. There was no 
 cache there at present, but the name still clung. 
 
 With plenty of wood available, a roaring fire was 
 soon going, and a generous-sized, three-pole, tarpaulin 
 lean-to erected against the lee side of the rock for 
 shelter. Despite the agony of pain it cost him to 
 drag his helpless foot about, the habitan insisted
 
 FIGHTING THE BLIZZARD 147 
 
 upon making a pot of coffee, warming a can of beans, 
 and frying bacon, all of which proved wonderfully 
 comforting to the three beat-out people. 
 
 Kerry Mallabee continued to treat Jensen pre 
 cisely as she had treated him before he found her lost 
 in the snow. She was still tenderly solicitous re 
 garding the condition of his injured arm, and he 
 could not say that her voice was any the less cordial 
 when she inquired about it than it had been before. 
 Yet there was something oddly inexplicable in her 
 conduct that kept him always at a certain distance, 
 as it had from the very first, save for that single 
 moment in the snow. It made extended conversation 
 difficult and held him silent many times when he 
 would, otherwise, have been inclined to talk with her.
 
 XI 
 
 INTO THE UNKNOWN 
 
 IT was late the next morning when the three thor 
 oughly exhausted travelers camped at Tete de 
 Loup Cache awoke. Even the usually wakeful Peter 
 Saint had enjoyed some sleep, despite his painful 
 ankle, and the fire in the lee side of the big " Turk s 
 head " rock had been allowed to burn down to a heap 
 of glowing embfers. 
 
 The wind and sleet had vanished to the south, and 
 the temperature was now several degrees above zero. 
 The fur-covered dogs sat about with lolling tongues. 
 Peter Saint stretched himself with a yawn. 
 
 " My Gar," he declared explosively with rich dis 
 gust, as he tried to step on his foot. " Theese ees 
 wan bad luck, theese bum ankle of Sin Petair s. 
 Only for dat, we make Camp Argyle by sundown." 
 
 " Oh, I think we ll make it before dark," said 
 Kerry Mallabee. " Anyway, there ll be a moon to 
 night. I knew this storm couldn t last ; it s too early ; 
 we re not due to be snowed in up here for several
 
 INTO THE UNKNOWN 149 
 
 weeks yet. It s seven years since we ve had snow so 
 early as this." 
 
 The habitan sniffed the air, then sat down in the 
 snow and drew off his pack, the woolen socks, and the 
 swathes of binding Jensen had wrapped about his 
 injured limb the night before. It was an ugly look 
 ing ankle, yet the tight, wet wrappings had prevented 
 it from swelling much. 
 
 " Shall I dress it again for you ? " asked Jensen, 
 as he gazed down on the seated habitan with an in 
 drawn breath of sympathy. 
 
 " Wait wan leetle bit ; Sin Petair, he theenk he 
 feex deese bum ankle wat is no good for anytheeng." 
 He began to manipulate the injured limb vigorously 
 with thumb and fingers. 
 
 Slowly, yet surely, Peter Saint pressed the bones 
 together. It must have cost him an infinity of the 
 most acute pain imaginable, yet his steel-like fingers 
 never faltered. 
 
 Jensen could hear the bones crunch upon one 
 another. It made him faint and ill. He turned 
 away just as there came a sharp, jumping snap, and 
 the displaced bone shot into place. Peter Saint 
 began to chuckle softly to. himself. 
 
 " Wall, wall, I theenk these bum ankle eese not so 
 bad, after all." He leaned over toward the sledge,
 
 150 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 secured a strip of rawhide, and proceeded to wind it 
 about the limb. The rawhide would shrink and hold 
 the bones together more rigidly than bands of steel. 
 Then he drew on the socks, laced his pac, and stood 
 up. 
 
 " My Gar, I theenk we make Camp Argyle by 
 sundown now, eh, what, my Baby? Harechon! 
 Marechon ! " 
 
 Peter Saint strode off as sturdily as though he were 
 stepping upon the most perfect ankle in the world, 
 instead of upon one that would have kept an ordi 
 nary man in the hospital for a week with his limb 
 shot full of morphia regularly each evening, singing 
 gaily as he walked : 
 
 " Oh, Jean Baptiste ! pourquoi ? 
 Oh, Jean Baptiste! pourquoi? 
 Oh, Jean Baptiste, pourquoi you grease 
 My little dog s nose with tar ? " 
 
 As they resumed their journey, Jensen s mind was 
 beset by a thousand conjectures. What sort of a 
 place was this Camp Argyle ? What would he meet 
 there ? How would they treat him, a stranger whom 
 Kerry Mallabee might perhaps tell them was mas 
 querading under a name that was not his own, and 
 who was bound upon a mission of deceit and treach 
 ery?
 
 INTO THE UNKNOWN 151 
 
 This much only Jensen felt confident of: at Camp 
 Argyle was the solution of Secret Service Case 
 BM432. Those white impressions of double eagles 
 that the frightened Kerry Mallabee had thrust sud 
 denly into the fire when his cry startled her at the 
 Little Babos camp were sufficient assurance to him 
 that the solution of the mystery of Case BM432 was 
 to be found at Camp Argyle, where Dan the Swede 
 had come from. 
 
 That Camp Argyle must be well within the bor 
 ders of Ungava he was also fairly certain; for he 
 knew they had been steadily traveling north, and he 
 assumed that the distance covered was sufficient to 
 take them not far from the lower Labrador line, or 
 thereabouts. He was also certain that they had not 
 veered toward Hudson Bay, for he was reasonably 
 familiar with the bleak and barren character of 
 that vicinity, and, while the country they had 
 passed through had been flat, it had not been with 
 out frequent patches of fir and spruce along the 
 trail. 
 
 Jensen was also perfectly aware that wherever he 
 might be going, there could be no turning back; a 
 return trip alone, at this season of the year, even 
 with dogs and komatic, would be practically impos 
 sible for a man like himself who knew nothing of the
 
 152 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 trails. It was a journey with every bridge burned 
 behind him. 
 
 Then he looked ahead to where Kerry Mallabee 
 strode along beside her dog team and thought that 
 being here with her was more than a slight compen 
 sation for the uncertainty of this mysterious expedi 
 tion into the unknown. 
 
 Yet, even of her he could scarcely be certain in 
 his mind for many moments. Her conduct always 
 puzzled him, now more than ever. Did she know ? 
 If she did know, why was she leading him to Camp 
 Argyle? His injured arm was no longer a reason 
 for keeping on, and she must be aware of the fact; 
 it had improved so much within the last twenty-four 
 hours that he felt quite himself again. 
 
 When he had found her there in the snow and 
 darkness on the evening before, and she lay for a 
 moment in his arms sobbing like a frightened child, 
 he had thought her heart warmed toward him, yet 
 since then she had shown no disposition to treat him 
 any different from the manner in which she treated 
 the habitan. 
 
 She sometimes engaged in low-toned conversation 
 with Peter Saint, and Jensen felt that he was the 
 subject of their talk. There was, however, but one 
 thing for him to do ; keep on. He was still a Secret
 
 INTO THE UNKNOWN 153 
 
 Service employee, and his mission was to find the 
 source of those counterfeit double eagles. Whatever 
 else might fleck the surface, that was, after all, the 
 essential thing he must steadily hold to. 
 
 As the keen, cold air of the morning filled his 
 lungs, stimulating his muscles to splendid exertion, 
 Jensen thought it was good to be there, even though 
 the spot were a thousand miles from civilization. In 
 every breath, in every move of his body, and in every 
 thing his eager eyes saw, he caught the call of the 
 Red Gods. 
 
 As he came nearer to Camp Argyle, something of 
 the same joyous feeling that had filled his heart when 
 he heard the first sounds of a visitor approaching the 
 Little Babos camp after his six days lonely waiting 
 there was again his. There was conflict of skill, 
 perhaps clash of fists ahead, and he felt like nothing 
 so much as hurrying toward it. 
 
 Only he hoped the coming battle was to be between 
 men; somehow he thought his contest of wits with 
 Kerry Mallabee had not left victory entirely on his 
 side. Perhaps he had held his own ; but certainly he 
 had gained no great victories, or at least, that was 
 the way he looked at it. 
 
 He was learning to care for her more than he ought 
 as a Secret Service man, he knew that, yet he hesi-
 
 154 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 tated to confess it, even to himself. She had been so 
 tender a nurse that her winning manner was making 
 her dearer to him every hour they spent together ; all 
 this in spite of the grim suspicion that she was con 
 cerned in a matter decidedly shady. 
 
 They halted at mid-day for a rest and to partake 
 of a meal of hard tack and pemmican, then started 
 again on what Peter Saint declared was the last leg 
 of their journey. 
 
 Just as darkness began to fall, Kerry Mallabee lin 
 gered behind where she might walk beside Jensen. 
 
 The painful journey they had made together had 
 brought the two men of the party closer together, yet, 
 in spite of Jensen s best efforts to express his grati 
 tude for the noble part the habitan had played in 
 bringing the medicine case out of the burning Little 
 Babos cabin, Peter had failed to show any great cor 
 diality in return. Jensen was, therefore, grateful 
 for Kerry Mallabee s company now, and probably his 
 face showed it ; anyway, she favored him with a little 
 smile. 
 
 " You look lonesome, Boy, so I am going to walk 
 with you for a while." It was the first time she had 
 used the softly sounding title " Boy " since the hour 
 he had discovered her lost in the snow. 
 
 " I was lonesome," declared Jensen impulsively,
 
 INTO THE UNKNOWN 155 
 
 " and beginning to fear I must have done something 
 to offend. Or perhaps that my company was no 
 longer welcome in the party." 
 
 She turned toward him with a little frown of per 
 plexity shadowing her sad eyes, and he added : 
 
 " To be sure, I don t know why I am keeping on 
 with you. My arm is almost perfectly well now, 
 thanks to your kind ministrations, and there is noth 
 ing to call me to Camp Argyle. My errand was only 
 to the Little Babos camp and to return with the pack 
 age Dan the Swede brought there, as I understand it. 
 But that package was burned with the shack. Really, 
 I ought to be making the back trail toward Quebec 
 instead of traveling ahead with you and Peter Saint." 
 He looked at her questioningly. 
 
 " You are going to Camp Argyle because I want 
 you to go," she said. " Is that too small a reason ? " 
 
 " Not at all," he replied. " I am so deeply indebted 
 to you, Miss Mallabee, that to go to Camp Argyle at 
 your wish would be the least thing I could do in re 
 turning a very small part of what I owe to the woman 
 who has saved my life." 
 
 He saw from her gathering frown that his expres 
 sions of gratitude did not please her, and he added : 
 
 " But, is that a reason, a real reason, I mean ? 
 Why do you wish me to go there ? "
 
 156 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Jensen himself desired, above all things, to go on 
 to Camp Argyle, since it was there he confidently ex 
 pected to find the key to Case BM432, yet he knew 
 it would not be wise to openly give expression to any 
 such desire. 
 
 A moon, three quarters full, swung high overhead 
 in a milky sea of glittering stars. It made a bril 
 liant, blue-white field of the snow-covered earth about 
 and lent a subtle, mystic fascination to the lonely, 
 silent scene where no life showed save this man and 
 woman and the two dog teams, a dark, blurred mass 
 in the moonlight far ahead. 
 
 Kerry Mallabee stopped, turned toward him, and 
 placed one hand upon his arm as she said slowly and 
 with a wonderfully winning note in her voice: 
 
 " Boy, do you think you could do a very great 
 thing for me, and do it blindly, without putting ques 
 tions?" 
 
 He looked into her shadowed face and tried to take 
 her hand in his as he answered ; but the hand evaded 
 his grasp, whether by intent or accident he did not 
 know, for she lifted it up to twist aside a strand of 
 her gold hair the wind had blown across her face. 
 
 " I think I could do a great deal for you ; but I 
 fear I am only human, I should like to know what 
 I was doing and why."
 
 INTO THE UNKNOWN 157 
 
 She shook her head slowly and considered a mo 
 ment before she spoke. 
 
 " No," she decided. " It must be done blindly 
 and without explanations, for the present, at least, 
 if you are to do it at all. Were I to tell you why 
 you are to do what you will, the very knowledge would 
 make it impossible for you." 
 
 She had spoken confidently, apparently taking it 
 quite for granted that he would do what she asked. 
 A slight turning away of his eyes from hers as he 
 considered, made her add : 
 
 " Xot that you would think it wrong, but that exact 
 knowledge would be your greatest drawback to suc 
 cessful accomplishment. Do you think you can do 
 it, Boy?" 
 
 She was standing close to him bathed in a halo of 
 mellow moonlight. He saw a beautiful woman, 
 sensed a wonderful mystery, and caught the illusive 
 attraction of her presence. Her inexplicable aloof 
 ness but added to her subtle fascination. The physi 
 cal nearness of her seemed almost to draw his soul 
 from his body ; he did not hesitate to devour her face 
 with his longing glance, yet he dared not take her in 
 his arms unless she would first come. He seemed to 
 hear his own voice speaking as from a distance, yet 
 he could have almost sworn it was not his own brain
 
 158 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 dictating the words. For all that he knew he meant 
 the words after they were spoken. 
 
 " Yes, I think I can, and I will," he answered 
 slowly and thoughtfully, as one accepting a conse 
 crated task. 
 
 For one fleeting second he found her warm hand 
 resting passive in his as she said with deep feeling: 
 
 " Thank you, Boy ! I knew you would." Then 
 the hand was quickly withdrawn and he had a sensa 
 tion of being suddenly revived from some sweetly 
 pleasant yet powerful anesthetic as she spoke her 
 next sentence in a commonplace tone and they walked 
 on again, side by side. 
 
 " The first thing I want you to do is to meet my 
 father, Stephen Mallabee." 
 
 Her bald statement brought a yanking back to 
 earth that was painful. 
 
 " Certainly that is not much ? " he said with a 
 smile. 
 
 " Oh, but you don t know," she answered. " I 
 want you to meet him and listen to all he will say to 
 you with an open mind. My father is a wonderful 
 man. If he becomes interested in you, as I think 
 he will, he will tell you some astounding things. I 
 want you to listen to him, as I said, with an open 
 mind and to make him like you, if you can."
 
 INTO THE UNKNOWN 159 
 
 Her words brought disquieting thoughts stabbing 
 home to Jensen s brain. Could it be her father, 
 Stephen Mallabee, who was the head of this vast 
 counterfeiting plan ? Was she thus attempting to en 
 list him in the scheme? He joltingly found him 
 self remembering what Springvale had mumbled in 
 his ravings regarding " false-hearted siren and satyrs 
 who led unsuspecting mortals into concealed pits of 
 destruction." Was Peter Saint the satyr and she 
 the false-hearted siren Tom Springvale had referred 
 to? Had she led Springvale on as she was leading 
 him on ? Was she playing a game ? 
 
 " Well," he thought, " if she was playing a game, 
 it was, at least, a game two could play at, and cer 
 tainly nothing would fit nicer with his own mission 
 into the North than what she proposed." 
 
 " Who shall I represent myself to be to your 
 father ? " he asked. 
 
 Did a tiny ironical smile play about the finely 
 moulded mouth of Kerry Mallabee as he asked his 
 question? Jensen thought the moonlight afforded 
 him a suggestion of something of the sort, yet he 
 could not be certain, and her words sounded true 
 enough when she answered: 
 
 " Tell him exactly what you told us at the Little 
 Babos camp ; he will be especially anxious to hear
 
 160 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 what you have to say of Springvale s illness, and he 
 will be glad to know the man who was Springvale s 
 friend at the last." 
 
 Again her hand brushed his and she looked in 
 tently into his eyes as she added very earnestly: 
 " Boy, you cannot understand what a tremendous 
 trust I am putting in you, and I cannot tell you 
 enough to make you understand; but I am sure you 
 won t fail me in this." 
 
 " Is this all I am to know ? " he asked a little 
 shakily, for he found it difficult to control himself 
 when she talked to him in this manner. 
 
 " Now ? Yes, but perhaps I can tell you more 
 after you have met my father and come to know him. 
 He, himself, will probably have much to tell you. 
 You must permit circumstances, as they develop, and 
 your own good instincts, to guide you." 
 
 Peter Saint and the dog teams having paused for 
 a slight rest, Jensen and Kerry Mallabee had now 
 caught up with them. As the two teams started on 
 again, Kerry Mallabee s animals suddenly became 
 greatly excited. With a parting word to Jensen to 
 remember his promise, she left him and ran forward 
 to give them attention. 
 
 Her team was madly racing ahead, trying to catch 
 up with Peter Saint s leaders. As her dogs made
 
 INTO THE UNKNOWN 161 
 
 it and came abreast of the habitan s team, his dogs 
 broke into a faster pace, and Jensen was well put to 
 it to keep the remainder of the party in sight as they 
 plunged through the snow amid a chorus of excited 
 cries from the beasts and wild shouts from Peter 
 Saint, who was being dragged on by Babe s leading 
 string.
 
 XII 
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH 
 
 TO set up opposition toward any pet pian of 
 Secret Service Chief Hilkie was to immedi 
 ately arouse all the fighting instinct in the man s na 
 ture. It was also common remark in the department 
 that the chief always did more effective work on a 
 particularly difficult case. 
 
 It is probable that J. J. Kerrison, head of the Ker- 
 rison Syndicate, knew nothing of this marked char 
 acteristic in the chief s disposition, or he might have 
 hesitated before playing that little trick of inviting 
 the chief to a conference at the Waldorf for nine 
 o clock on a certain Tuesday morning and then leav 
 ing the hotel bag and baggage long before that hour 
 arrived. Still, there is no telling; neither man was 
 a person at all addicted to doing the expected thing. 
 
 When Chief Hilkie visited the Waldorf-Astoria 
 and discovered the shabby trick Kerrison had played 
 on him, his first thought was that the man must have 
 something mighty important to conceal. On second 
 thought he cast this idea aside. Knowing Kerrison s
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH 163 
 
 nature to be like that of the fox, the chief felt certain 
 that, if the Syndicate head really had anything per 
 sonal to conceal, he would probably have welcomed 
 investigation and endeavored to lead the investigators 
 astray by back-tracking and by oily affability that 
 held forward frankly open palms while concealing 
 his card on the back of his hands. Such had been 
 Kerrison s course during the several government in 
 vestigations that had to do with his political aspira 
 tions and his part in what was termed in newspaper 
 parlance " the Money Trust." 
 
 No other witness appearing before the Congres 
 sional investigating committee had been so free with 
 information ; none had said so much, yet told so 
 little. Kerrison seemed to possess the ability to sink 
 facts so deeply in the sea of words that it was difficult 
 to hook them up again until he was well off the 
 stand and out of jurisdiction. Then the cross-ex 
 aminer usually came to himself with a jerk, and 
 for the first time saw the opportunities he had 
 missed. 
 
 The chief was a man of resources. In less than 
 one hour after leaving the Waldorf, he had unearthed 
 the information that J. J. Kerrison had departed 
 that morning over one of his own railroads, in his 
 own private car, for his own three-thousand-acre
 
 164 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 hunting preserve in northern Vermont. If old J. J. 
 expected thus to find secret seclusion, he was mis 
 taken; within a remarkably short time Chief Hilkie 
 with three of his men was also aboard a fast train 
 traveling toward the same section of northern Ver 
 mont. 
 
 " Merely a few hours difference and a little con 
 fusion in our locations, that s all," declared the chief 
 with a smile to Beck, his assistant. " Old J. J. said 
 Tuesday morning ; I ll make it Tuesday evening, 
 and the place Craggmorie, instead of Suite C at the 
 Waldorf-Astoria hotel." 
 
 Before taking his train for northern Vermont, the 
 chief visited his New York headquarters and in 
 quired if any news had come in from Varick or 
 Crewly, the two Secret Service men who had gone 
 into Canada to follow after Alan Jensen. There 
 was news. 
 
 The chief s private secretary was at that very 
 moment finishing the deciphering of a message in 
 Secret Service code that had come through but twenty 
 minutes previous, having found its devious way over 
 several thousand miles of barren territory, partly by 
 relay, partly by wireless and the remainder of the 
 distance by direct wire. 
 
 The chief picked up the sheet of paper handed him
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH 165 
 
 by the secretary and read the typewritten message 
 thereon : 
 
 " Arrived Little Babos camp in snowstorm this morning. 
 Cabin recently burned and deserted. Charred remains of man 
 seven feet tall and two thousand counterfeit double eagles 
 found in ruins. Party of two people with dogs and sledges 
 left cabin going north shortly before we arrived. One woman. 
 Other person probably Jensen. We follow, well equipped, but 
 snowstorm makes trail difficult to follow. 
 
 " VABICK. 
 
 " CBEWLY." 
 
 " Cr-acky ! " snapped the amazed chief, as his eyes 
 danced with the joy of discovery. " That s the most 
 important development yet to occur in Case BM432. 
 Jensen was on the right lead ; he s beat us all. But 
 it s Canada, and that complicates matters most 
 damnably. I ll have to consult the State Depart 
 ment." 
 
 Then the chief fell to musing a moment as he bit 
 the ends of his brown moustache and studied the 
 message anew, murmuring to himself : 
 
 " Um-m, a woman. Odd. I can t quite see where 
 she fits into this. I wonder. Now I wonder is 
 she O pshaw! that s impossible; I know where 
 she is." 
 
 The chief dropped the message, swung around in 
 his chair, and soon had Washington on the long dis 
 tance wire. After a lengthy conversation with an
 
 166 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 important personage in the State Department, the 
 chief dictated several sheets of instructions to be left 
 behind with his private secretary and then took his 
 departure for the Vermont express. 
 
 " I ll kill two birds with one stone," said the chief 
 to Beck, as he hurriedly threw a few necessities into 
 a traveling bag. " See old J. J. and also get so 
 much closer to this very promising lead that Crewly 
 and Varick have discovered. 
 
 Late that same day the chief and three of his men 
 left their train at Carldale, Vermont, on the Cana 
 dian Pacific, that being the nearest station to Cragg- 
 morie, Kerrison s hunting preserve. From Carldale 
 it would be necessary to proceed several miles by 
 motor in order to reach Craggmorie. A sheaf of 
 telegrams and an impatiently chugging motor-car 
 awaited the chief as he stepped from the train at 
 Carldale. He first glanced through the telegrams 
 and then looked down the track toward a siding, 
 where he saw with satisfaction that Kerrison s pala 
 tial private car, the Loch Lavon, was standing. In 
 stead of boarding the waiting motor-car, the chief 
 went inside the shabby little station and had several 
 minutes conversation with the agent. 
 
 " She ll be due in about forty minutes," the agent 
 was heard to say, as Chief Hilkie finally came out
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH 167 
 
 from the combination ticket booth, telegraph office, 
 and trainmen s loafing headquarters. " I just got 
 word from her on the D. & V. branch. It s a clear 
 track ahead now, and she ll burn up the rails getting 
 here." 
 
 For forty minutes the chief paced back and forth 
 like a caged animal on the restricted station platform 
 outside, alternately chewing at the ends of his mous 
 tache and lighting cigars, only to throw each cigar 
 away before he had smoked a quarter its length. At 
 the end of forty minutes a powerful locomotive draw 
 ing a single car came slam-banging over the bridge 
 from the south, coughed its way importantly up to 
 the Carldale station, dropped a single passenger from 
 its single car, and then backed onto the siding where 
 Kerrison s car was located in such a manner as to 
 effectively pocket the Loch Lav on. The two cars 
 now stood close together, the locomotive headed out 
 of the blind siding. 
 
 The single passenger to alight from this train was 
 a short, immaculately dressed, rosy-cheeked chap of 
 cherubic countenance, some fifty years old. Evi 
 dently this person was some one whose arrival the 
 chief had been expecting, and quite as evidently he 
 of the cherubic countenance had expected to find 
 Chief Hilkie awaiting him at this very much out-of-
 
 168 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 the-way station, for the two men greeted one another 
 cordially and engaged in an extended confidential 
 talk. At the close of this conversation, the latest 
 arrival at Carldale by special train burst into a fit 
 of chuckling laughter, left the chief, and strolled off 
 toward his own car down on the siding. 
 
 Entering this car and selecting a comfortable chair 
 directly beneath a cluster of lights, for it was quite 
 dark now, this gentleman drew forth a paper-bound 
 nickel novel from his inside breast pocket and was 
 soon lost to a realization of all exterior things as he 
 mentally followed the fortunes of Billy Van, the Boy 
 Detective. 
 
 After having finished his conversation with the 
 man of the cherubic countenance, who must have 
 been a person of considerable importance, if one 
 might judge by the deferential manner in which the 
 employees about the station gave him the right of 
 way and berth for his special train, Chief Hilkie re- 
 entered the little station, stuck his head in the ticket 
 window and said to the agent : 
 
 " Allow me thirty minutes to get up there, then 
 you call up Kerrison s and tell them Chief Hilkie 
 of the United States Secret Service has just arrived 
 in Carldale and was making inquiries about Cragg- 
 morie. If they ask where I am now, tell them you
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH 169 
 
 don t know for certain, but you think I went to the 
 Shepard Inn for the night. Get J. J. if you can." 
 
 After leaving these precise instructions with the 
 station agent, the chief and two of his men entered 
 the motor-car that had been awaiting their order and 
 were whirled away in the night toward Craggmorie 
 and the Canadian frontier. The fourth man of the 
 chief s party was left behind, and he spent the time 
 in the ticket booth swapping stories with the agent 
 as they sat before the stove in their shirt sleeves, 
 burning up a generous supply of cigars the chief had 
 thoughtfully left behind for their consumption. 
 
 At frequent intervals this fourth man, whose name 
 was Widden, a stocky, strawberry blond chap with a 
 close-bitten red moustache, would go to the door and 
 listen intently up the main road. Finally he pulled 
 forth a huge silver watch and said : 
 
 " Thirty minutes ; better call em up now, cap ." 
 
 The station agent stepped to the telephone, rang 
 up Craggmorie, and asked for Mr. Kerrison. After 
 a few moments delay, he evidently got the party de 
 sired, for he carefully told them what the chief had 
 directed. Then he hung up the receiver and 
 slouched back to his chair beside the stove with a 
 broad grin overspreading his face. 
 
 " What did he say ? " asked Widden.
 
 170 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " Just hell, and cut off. Not another word ; 
 just < hell. " 
 
 " Well, gimme your hat now, and you can go 
 home," said Widden. " I ll see that everything is 
 all right, and if I have to leave, I ll lock up and send 
 you over the keys." 
 
 Over the bridge and fourteen miles outside of 
 Carldale, Chief Hilkie s motor came upon the outer 
 boundaries of Craggmorie, an enormous game pre 
 serve, entirely surrounded by a high wire fence. 
 Having arrived by the main road to town, the party 
 struck Craggmorie at the main gate. Here they put 
 out their lights and drew in at one side of the road 
 in the dark shadows of some dense trees. The chief 
 pulled out his watch and inspected it in the glare of 
 a pocket flash. 
 
 " Just thirty-one minutes," he said to Beck. 
 " The station agent should be talking to them now. 
 I d like to see Kerrison s face when he hears what s 
 up. If the old fox means to run again, we ll hear 
 his car chugging through that gate in ten minutes; 
 but I don t think he ll run this time." 
 
 They waited for five, then ten minutes in the cold 
 and darkness. Finally a faint whirring sound could 
 be heard off to the north inside the gate. 
 
 " Hell ! " barked the chief under his breath, un-
 
 NEWS FROM THE NORTH 171 
 
 consciously duplicating the expression old J. J. had 
 uttered a few moments previous. 
 
 A second or two later a high-power, closed motor 
 car with flaring lights shot through the gateway and 
 vanished swiftly down the road. The chief had a 
 fleeting glimpse of a well muffled figure in a tall hat 
 seated inside the car. 
 
 " I didn t think he d do it. Seems a silly move, 
 too," he said to Beck. " Almost makes me think the 
 old gold king really has something to conceal; or 
 else he s losing his mind. But I was fixed for this ; 
 he ll not travel far to-night; Widden and Francis 
 will hold him." 
 
 The sleepy Craggmorie keeper who had opened the 
 gate for Kerrison s motor evidently expected the car 
 would soon return, for he re-entered his little lodge 
 without closing the gate. After waiting some ten or 
 fifteen minutes, the chief instructed his chauffeur to 
 again turn on the lights; they then moved slowly 
 down the road a short distance, turned around, put 
 on full speed, came back, and whirled inside the 
 Craggmorie gate and up the avenue to the main lodge 
 on two wheels. Looking back, the chief saw the 
 sleepy keeper come out and close the gate after them, 
 seemingly unsuspicious of who had just passed in 
 side the grounds.
 
 172 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " Simple curiosity, perhaps," said Chief Hilkie to 
 Beck. " But while Kerrison is absent, I want to 
 see what Craggmorie lodge looks like at close range."
 
 XIII 
 
 BLACK DEVIL S BED 
 
 THE three people journeying toward Camp 
 Argyle had been traveling slowly but steadily 
 upward into a much higher country for some hours, 
 and here and there were frequent patches of spruce 
 and pine, yet Jensen could, as yet, discern no cause 
 for the recent unusual excitement of the dogs. 
 
 A moment later, as he hurried on, he thought he 
 made out what appeared to be two tall masts extend 
 ing many feet into the air on a little height some dis 
 tance ahead. 
 
 Approaching nearer, he was able to distinguish 
 some sort of a framework, reaching through the air 
 from the top of one mast to the other. A closer look 
 disclosed its nature; it was the high swung antenna 
 of a wireless station! But why a wireless station 
 without a house or a sign of a human being any 
 where, and in what he took to be almost the center of 
 unexplored Ungava ? 
 
 He ran on eagerly, his mind filled with a thou 
 sand speculations.
 
 174 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 As he topped a slight rise ahead, Jensen slowed his 
 pace and fell back with astonishment. He found he 
 was traveling along the edge of a drop of almost a 
 hundred feet. Below, showing clear cut in the moon 
 light, was a wide canyon, almost a valley; through 
 this canyon ran a small river, from which rose a 
 misty cloud of vapor. To his right he could see 
 where the river broke over a high, rocky precipice; 
 beside this rather thin stream of falling water was 
 a piece of cement work he recognized, even with his 
 limited engineering knowledge, as a turbine tower, 
 and beside this tower nestled a compact power sta 
 tion built of cement. 
 
 Clustered about the foot of the falls was a gath 
 ering of well constructed log houses. There was 
 also what he took to be a long bunkhouse, a smaller 
 cook-house, and six or eight single cabins ranged 
 loosely and far apart in a hollow square about a more 
 pretentious building, built with some regard to archi 
 tectural effect and evidently containing many rooms. 
 This larger building was of the bungalow type and 
 was completely surrounded by a commodious piazza. 
 To the left of the power house, on a spot of lower 
 ground, were several enormous dump heaps of pecul 
 iar deposit, showing black where new quantities had 
 been recently dropped on the snow-covered surface.
 
 BLACK DEVIL S BED 175 
 
 Against the sheer side of the cliff, beside the falls, 
 was an opening that Jensen supposed to be the en 
 trance to some sort of a mine ; yet he knew, from the 
 type of the buildings clustered about, that it could be 
 neither a gold, silver, nor a copper mine. About the 
 power house he saw several dark forms nearing. 
 
 The sudden discovery of this well equipped camp 
 where Jensen had previously supposed was nothing 
 but miles upon miles of unexplored barren waste, 
 with a few sparse spots of forest growths, filled his 
 mind with amazement. He gazed down on the still, 
 moon-drenched scene with conflicting emotions; he 
 was glad to be there; it promised something definite 
 in Case BM432; yet what part did Kerry Mallabee 
 play in this ? Some one spoke at his elbow, and he 
 turned to see her standing close beside him, a faint 
 smile wreathed about her mouth and tempering her 
 usually sad eyes as she inspected his own puzzled 
 features. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " it is Camp Argyle and my 
 home. What do you think of it ? " 
 
 " But here, in the center of Ungava ? " he stam 
 mered. " I hadn t the remotest idea that there could 
 be anything of the sort away up here. Of course I 
 can see it is a mine, and it was evidently located sev 
 eral years ago, judging by the age of the buildings;
 
 176 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 but why did we never hear of it back in the States, 
 and how did it come here ? " 
 
 She shook her head and made a little playful 
 moue. " Questions and more questions," she said, 
 " and you promised not to ask them. If this is the 
 way you start in to maintain your promise, where 
 will you end ? " 
 
 " But but," he stammered again, " I didn t 
 think you meant me to go on absolutely blind." 
 
 " No," she answered, still playfully. " Not quite 
 that ; father would expect, of course, that I could not 
 bring you here without telling you something of the 
 place. That would indeed be blind obedience to me, 
 and the last thing in the world I would want my 
 father, Stephen Mallabee, to look for in you. 
 
 " This is a mine of pitchblende," she continued. 
 " It was located here many years ago by my father 
 and has been kept a secret in the furtherance of 
 certain plans he has in mind. You never heard of 
 it in the States because the outfit was brought here 
 from England by way of Hudson Strait and TJngava 
 Bay, and because the product mined here has never 
 been marketed in the States." 
 
 Pitchblende! her utterance of the word sent Jen 
 sen s mind bounding to the nth point of exaltation; 
 then as quickly dropped it to the uttermost depths of
 
 BLACK DEVIL S BED 177 
 
 despair. This, then, must be the mysterious source 
 of " ithite " he had been commissioned by Chief 
 Hilkie to discover. Here, too, should be a clear trail 
 to the secret of the most astounding counterfeit 
 scheme that had ever engaged the attention of the 
 United States Secret Service. Yet Kerry Malla- 
 bee s father must be at the head of it; everything 
 pointed unmistakably to that conclusion. 
 
 " Come," she said. " We will go down into the 
 canyon; it is called Black Devil s Bed. That is 
 Black Devil River. The canyon is a sort of gigantic 
 trough the river dug out seons ago when it came to 
 this softer clay after flowing for miles over its rocky 
 bed. Black Devil s Bed was formerly almost filled 
 by the river ; but father built a huge dam up above in 
 order to lower the stream for an entrance to his mine. 
 The mine help here are all foreigners, Swedes and a 
 few Finlanders; father gathers most of these men 
 abroad, bringing them under contract to return them 
 to their own country. They haven t the remotest 
 idea where they are; they couldn t leave if they 
 wanted to, until he gets ready to take them out. He 
 selects every man carefully, more for muscle and en 
 durance than for intelligence. Big Dan was a leader 
 among them, a bad man, yet he controlled the others, 
 and father put some confidence in him because of
 
 178 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 that fact and because he would follow directions to 
 the exact letter, no matter what came up. I think 
 he was loyal to father, and father values loyalty 
 highly." 
 
 " But it must be a very short season in which the 
 mine can be worked, if you depend on the water 
 power in the falls," said Jensen. 
 
 " Twelve months in the year," returned Kerry 
 Mallabee with a smile. " And with more than seven 
 thousand kilowatts of power that costs us practically 
 nothing. The falling water in the turbine tower 
 propels the generators, the generators make elec 
 tricity and electricity keeps the turbine tower always 
 warm so that the falling water never freezes. Auto 
 matic, you see. That mist rising from the river 
 comes from the warm water. We heat our houses, 
 cook, see and mine with electric current, yet never 
 burn an ounce of coal. Really it is a wonderful 
 scheme that father has evolved for mining in this 
 frozen wilderness." 
 
 " But it s odd I never heard of your father, 
 Stephen Mallabee, in the States ? " said Jensen, as 
 they began descending a roughly terraced trail that 
 led down into Black Devil s Bed. 
 
 " I think you have," she smiled. " My father is 
 Stephen Mallabee, Baron Arbuthnot and Lord Can-
 
 BLACK DEVIL S BED 179 
 
 nonquest, former Premier of Canada, now retired 
 from active political life." 
 
 " Ye gods and little fishes ! " thought Jensen, cov 
 ered with confusion. " Xo wonder I gathered the 
 impression she was accustomed to the fine things of 
 life!" 
 
 Few names were more familiar in the United 
 States than that of the " Ironman of Canada," Lord 
 Cannonquest, in succession poor miner, then railroad 
 worker, railroad builder, and later Premier of the 
 Dominion, yet Jensen had never known that the gen 
 tleman also answered to the more prosaic name of 
 Stephen Mallabee. And here he, an everyday Amer 
 ican citizen, Alan Jensen, had been hobnobbing with 
 the daughter of a lord, treating her precisely as 
 though she were merely the pretty sister of some 
 neighbor of his own class. At first thought, he 
 could not help drawing slightly away from Kerry 
 Mallabee as they passed together down the wide can 
 yon, and his face must have given indication of his 
 astonishment and confusion at becoming aware of 
 her station in life, for she said, with a mellow, 
 tinkling laugh: 
 
 " Don t be silly, Boy. We are only l just folks, 
 and you must not think otherwise. I was educated 
 at Bryn Mawr and have spent much of my life in
 
 180 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 the States; perhaps that is why I am not always 
 thoroughly in accord with all father s British ideas 
 and notions." The smile left her mouth as she ut 
 tered her last sentence, and the corners drooped 
 pathetically into closer confirmation with her eyes, 
 that were always sad. 
 
 " But I simply can t think of you quite as I did 
 before," he said. " You are the daughter of an Eng 
 lish lord, instead of being plain Miss Mallabee, as I 
 thought you." 
 
 " Oh, well," she answered, laughing, " if you will 
 have it that way, you may be my knight errant, al 
 ways guarding my name and fulfilling my most high 
 commission. Just now that commission is to make 
 my father like you as I like you, Boy," she added, 
 with a bewitching smile. 
 
 Her words and her smile banished the idea of in 
 equality from Jensen s mind as a summer breeze 
 scatters foreboding clouds. She might be the daugh 
 ter of a lord; yet her father had once been a poor 
 man, and no woman had ever shown less of the arro 
 gance he usually associated with thoughts of the 
 nobility. 
 
 " Then you do like me ? " he blurted out with boy 
 ish ardor. 
 
 " Of course I like you ; can you suppose I would
 
 BLACK DEVIL S BED 181 
 
 have enlisted you in this high commission if I did 
 not ? Haven t I already told you that it is a tre 
 mendously important matter to me? Be sensible, 
 Boy." 
 
 They had come down into the canyon called Black 
 Devil s Bed now, and Kerry Mallabee stopped before 
 one of the single log houses located at a corner of the 
 hollow square. 
 
 " Here," she said, opening the door and turning 
 an electric switch, " are your diggings. It will be 
 your home while you remain with us. I will send 
 Mon Toy over to you at once. All our house serv 
 ants are Chinese ; he is very competent and will look 
 out for your needs during your stay here." 
 
 " What, an entire cabin to myself ? " inquired 
 Jensen in amazement, as he stepped inside in re 
 sponse to a wave of Kerry Mallabee s hand. 
 
 " Certainly," she answered. " We always accom 
 modate our guests with a cabin to themselves. 
 Father will probably send for you to dine with him 
 later. Come as you are ; we seldom dress for dinner. 
 Father will understand the circumstances. Ours is 
 the large bungalow." 
 
 " By George," thought Jensen, as Kerry Mallabee 
 left him. " I was prepared for a surprise in Camp 
 Argyle, but this surpasses my wildest imagination.
 
 182 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 I don t know what to think ; it s as little like a coun 
 terfeiting plant as chalk is like cheese." 
 
 As the door closed upon Kerry Mallabee, Jensen 
 looked about. There was a small but well furnished 
 sitting-room with a big fireplace and plenty of com 
 fort-inviting chairs clustered about it. Leading off 
 from this room was a chamber with a brass bed. 
 
 He opened a door that led out from the sleeping- 
 room. Wonder of wonders, he found himself in a 
 completely equipped bathroom. A bath! It was 
 more than six weeks since he had turned his back 
 upon civilization, and the thought of a full bath al 
 most made him shout for joy. 
 
 He switched on the tap marked " Hot." Still 
 greater wonders came! It was steaming hot water 
 that flowed out. A bathroom, electric lights, and 
 plenty of hot water north of 56 ; he could with 
 
 difficulty believe he was not dreaming. A snapping 
 i 
 
 sound caught his ear. He looked up quickly ; in the 
 corner stood a huge electric thermal radiator. He 
 placed his hand upon it; it was just beginning to 
 warm up. 
 
 Jensen was soon splashing joyfully about, luxuri 
 ating in a tub full of steaming water that laved his 
 aching muscles and coaxed every trace of fatigue 
 from them, when he heard the outer cabin door open,
 
 BLACK DEVIL S BED 183 
 
 soft, padding footsteps trotted toward his bathroom 
 door, some one knocked thereon, and a queer little 
 squeaky voice cried : 
 
 " Only me. Mon Toy. Manchu boy. Me 
 bringee you coat, tlousers, socks, shlirt, underwear, 
 towels. Alle lite ? " 
 
 Jensen roared with laughter; clean wearables 
 would indeed cap the climax of comfort after that 
 bath. 
 
 "All right, Mon Toy," he answered. "Thank 
 you; toss them in." 
 
 A grinning yellow face twisted itself around the 
 edge of the door as the articles named were tossed 
 to a chair. 
 
 " You wantee rlub down ? Mon Toy givee you 
 slap-dash, bang-bang, pom-pom. Squeeze all aches 
 out your skin. Velly fine." 
 
 Jensen came puffing like a porpoise from his re 
 freshing tub and the Chinaman proceeded to pinch, 
 rub, pound and pummel his muscle swathed form in 
 a manner most thorough. Dressed again, Jensen 
 felt like a new person. The clothing was serviceable, 
 and it fitted fairly well. 
 
 " You come big house. Half hour. Dlinner. 
 Master velly glad see you. His compliments," said 
 the Chinaman laconically, as he took his departure.
 
 184 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 While Jensen had been dressing, Mon Toy had 
 built a crackling fire of huge logs in the fireplace, 
 drawn a comfortable chair, and laid a freshly opened 
 newspaper where it would be warm to his hand when 
 he took it up. Jensen dropped into a chair and 
 picked up the newspaper. It was a several-weeks- 
 old copy of the London Times. Jensen grinned at 
 the English of it. 
 
 As he sat back musing beside the cheerful blaze, it 
 struck him with renewed force how unlike the quar 
 ters of a desperate counterfeiting gang was this 
 Camp Argyle with its many comforts. And what 
 possible incentive could a man of Lord Cannon- 
 quest s great wealth and prominence have for mixing 
 in such a shady affair ? Surely he did not need the 
 money, for his reputed fortune was something like 
 four hundred millions. Yet Jensen was morally cer 
 tain that the focal point of the whole scheme was 
 right here, and he also had an instinctive feeling, 
 impossible to quench, that Stephen Mallabee was con 
 cerned in it. Certainly a pack of unlettered Swedes 
 and Finns could not be expected to plan and carry 
 out the production of so much gold coin, perfect 
 enough to deceive the best government experts. 
 
 The whole thing was as inexplicable as ever, yet 
 it seemed certain he was on the right track. The
 
 BLACK DEVIL S BED 185 
 
 trail of the coins had so plainly led here. What he 
 would do if matters turned out as he expected and 
 came to a crisis was a phase of the situation that 
 Jensen gave little thought to; he knew it was futile 
 to plan the details of how to meet unknown condi 
 tions until they actually confronted him. If the 
 source of this money was really here, and Stephen 
 Mallabee was making it, Jensen felt certain some 
 way would turn up for him to either return himself 
 or send word back to his chief in Washington. Pos 
 sibly the wireless station high above the camp might 
 offer a solution. 
 
 He still had faith that even though Kerry Malla- 
 bee s father might be involved in the coining of illicit 
 United States money, she, herself, at least, was not 
 entirely in sympathy with the scheme. He remem 
 bered what she had previously remarked about not 
 being in accord with all her father s ideas, and the 
 look of ineffable sadness that had overspread her face 
 when she said it. That this view might be, in part, 
 inspired by love for the woman was something Jensen 
 failed to take into account. 
 
 He arose to his feet to leave the cabin and shook 
 back his broad shoulders as he closed the door behind 
 him with a feeling of keen joy. He was presently 
 to dine with her father, and developments of some
 
 186 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 sort were likely to occur. Whatever came it would 
 be action, and to his sturdy body, action, play of 
 muscle and clash of wits was as the very breath of 
 life. 
 
 The moon was dropping toward the horizon; yet 
 the myriad stars made the scene almost as bright as 
 at noonday. Over at the bunkhouse the miners were 
 holding some sort of a celebration, judging by the 
 uproarious sounds that came from there. The more 
 pretentious house within the hollow square of other 
 buildings was glowing with lights in all the windows. 
 He walked on with a persistent feeling of puzzled 
 wonder at the rare completeness of these homes, 
 located away up here in unexplored Ungava, without 
 anybody in the United States being aware of its ex 
 istence, so far as he knew, and Jensen was reasonably 
 familiar with all that was known about this section 
 of the world. 
 
 He strode up the steps of this huge, flat, bungalow- 
 like structure that was the home of Stephen Malla- 
 bee, passed under the wide verandah, and pressed an 
 announcing button beside the door.
 
 XIV 
 
 THE GAUNT, GEAY MAN 
 
 IN" answer to Jensen s ring, the door was opened 
 by Kerry Mallabee herself. Aside from remov 
 ing her outer fur garment she had not changed from 
 the clothing she wore when she came to the Little 
 Babos camp. Jensen could not but think this to be 
 an act of kindly courtesy to make her expected vis 
 itor feel more at ease. 
 
 " Welcome to Argyle House," she cried cordially, 
 as she threw back the door. " And do hurry in ; 
 father has been so anxious to see you. He was all 
 for trotting over to your cabin as soon as I told him 
 of the visitor I had brought; but I persuaded him 
 to send Mon Toy with a change of clothing instead. 
 Did they fit ? " She smiled a cordial welcome and 
 gave him an appraising glance. " I knew you and 
 father were of much the same build, although father 
 is a bit slighter, I think." 
 
 " My dear fellow, do come in," greeted a penetrat 
 ing voice from the rear of the entrance hall. Jen 
 sen heard firm steps approaching. Presently the
 
 188 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 crimson hangings of a doorway were parted, and a 
 tall, gaunt man of some sixty odd years came for 
 ward with outstretched hand. 
 
 " My daughter, Kerry, has told me you are Alan 
 Kerrison from the States, so we may waive the use 
 less formality of introductions. I am Stephen Mal- 
 labee and glad to see you; but sorry you bring such 
 sad news of poor Springvale." 
 
 Jensen clasped the offered hand, murmured some 
 words of polite greeting, and found himself gazing 
 into a pair of penetrating gray eyes. They appeared 
 to snap and glow like a smouldering blaze hid be 
 neath grim, beetling cliffs. Bushy brows that rose 
 and fell as Mallabee spoke lent an inflection to every 
 sentence that no tone of voice could have so effect 
 ively imparted. 
 
 A massive, dome-like forehead was crowned with 
 a tumbled mane of iron-gray hair. The jaw, that 
 one instinctively knew must be square and powerful, 
 was concealed by a bushy, iron-gray beard, un- 
 trimmed but not unkempt. The man himself was 
 more than six feet tall, rather spare and with a hint 
 of some gigantic, lone gray wolf in the supple move 
 ments of his muscles as he walked and, as he cut his 
 words sharply, in the snap of his jaws. 
 
 Mallabee s voice was firm but pleasant ; the whole
 
 THE GAUNT, GRAY MAN 189 
 
 personality of the man, despite his years, seemed to 
 radiate both an excess of physical energy and a 
 super-abundance of mental independence and initia 
 tive. As Jensen gazed back into those lambent gray 
 eyes, he was aware of a slight feeling of odd discom 
 fort. He couldn t possibly have analyzed it then, 
 nor told why it affected him as it did; but it was 
 there. The personality of the man, big, masterful, 
 aggressive, appealed to him tremendously; yet the 
 eyes both repelled and attracted. 
 
 " Are you at all related to the Montana Kerrisons, 
 the gold mine people ? " asked Stephen Mallabee, as 
 they passed toward the dining-room. 
 
 Jensen felt it would be difficult to deceive those 
 penetrating eyes, and his answer was truthful, at 
 least as far as it went. 
 
 " I do not think we are connected with the Mon 
 tana Kerrisons at all," he answered. " They, I be 
 lieve, are of Scotch descent; my people are Connec 
 ticut Yankee." 
 
 They sat three at the table. The dining-room was 
 finished in fumed oak with a beamed ceiling, high 
 wood-paneled walls, and dark green velvet hangings 
 at doors and windows. A veritable giant of a stone 
 fireplace at one side was flanked by two Yamuk totem 
 poles upholding a curiously carved mantel of black
 
 190 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 wood. Scattered about were several more examples 
 of quaint Indian wood-carving, tall figures of bird- 
 beaked gods and standing bears, almost lifesize. 
 The hanging beams of the ceiling were also curiously 
 wrought in Indian fashion. The satiny fur skins of 
 a half dozen Kadiak bears covered the polished floor. 
 Jensen remembered, as his eyes took in the room, 
 that a Thlingit totem pole had served for a newel 
 post in the outer hall, and that the dining-room en 
 trance door had one at each side ; they gave the place 
 an appearance of grim, barbaric splendor very at 
 tractive. The furniture showed rare artistic discern 
 ment in its selection. 
 
 The table candles were shaded, and the general 
 effect of the apartment was dark, with Kerry Malla- 
 bee s head of gold hair, her father s ample shock of 
 iron-gray, and the blazing fire as spots of reflection 
 standing out and relieving an atmosphere that was 
 yet warm and mellow despite the lack of light and 
 color. 
 
 Stephen Mallabee was anxious to hear the details 
 of Springvale s death, and Jensen gave them as 
 closely to truth as he might without revealing any 
 thing of his own mission into the North. From re 
 marks made by both Mallabee and his daughter he 
 early learned that Springvale was the same young
 
 THE GAUNT, GRAY MAN 191 
 
 man he had known at Harvard, and this put him 
 more at ease in the ensuing conversation. 
 
 The dinner was served by a soft-footed Chinese 
 butler. The dishes were varied, and had he not 
 been aware that the meal was prepared many hun 
 dred miles from any adequate source of supplies, 
 Jensen would have considered it creditable for the 
 finest of metropolitan hotels. 
 
 Stephen Mallabee appeared anxious for exact news 
 regarding business and financial conditions in " the 
 States," as he called them, and kept Jensen pretty 
 busy on those subjects until the dinner was well ad 
 vanced. Mallabee himself volunteered little infor 
 mation, and Jensen did not yet feel sufficiently ac 
 quainted with the " Ironman of Canada " to attempt 
 to draw him out. 
 
 Finally the talk veered again to old J. J. Kerrison 
 and his gold mines, a subject regarding which Malla 
 bee appeared exceedingly well informed. 
 
 " There s a wonderful pioneer of new fortunes, 
 old J. J., as you call him in the States," said 
 Stephen Mallabee, with a sweeping gesture. " A 
 man whom your United States quite fails to appre 
 ciate. Alaska would, to-day, be one of the best 
 developed sections of this continent if you had but 
 given old J. J. a free hand. Instead you have kept
 
 192 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 him cribbed, cabined, and confined, like an old ele 
 phant in the zoo, until he has become a rogue, he 
 has gone must." 
 
 " But he used his money and his power unscrupu 
 lously," protested Jensen. " Armed with these he 
 attempted to practically buy a seat in the United 
 States Senate." 
 
 " Well, what of it ? " retorted Mallabee, looking 
 up sharply with those penetrating eyes. " Seats in 
 your Senate have been sold, upon occasion, haven t 
 they? Such is common report, anyway. That 
 would indeed be a small thing to condemn him for, 
 buying what was put up for sale. That is the trouble 
 with your United States, you don t look at things in 
 the large way. You have lost all the fine ideas of 
 empire you originally drank in with your mothers 
 milk. You have plenty of big men; but you are 
 eternally cramping them. As a result, your horizon 
 is still small and will always remain so, unless you 
 change your narrow manner of looking upon matters." 
 
 This was spoken not in the querulous, patronizing 
 tones of the petty faultfinder; but rather with the 
 hearty voice of a big brother who desired to offer the 
 guiding help of a more experienced hand. 
 
 " Now, father," chided Kerry Mallabee, with a 
 fond smile, " you are beginning, as usual, to air
 
 THE GAUNT, GRAY MAN 193 
 
 those British ideas of yours. Perhaps our visitor 
 carries about with him a more comprehensive dia 
 gram of his country s faults than you do; but has 
 patriotism enough to keep it concealed." Turning 
 to Jensen, she added : " You see, father thinks his 
 own land, and especially that part of it called the 
 Dominion of Canada, is such a wonderful country 
 that no other can possibly equal it ; and, let me whis 
 per a secret to you, his ears haven t yet ceased to 
 hear the echo of the bells your ancestors rang in 76. 
 He considers that occasion to be your greatest er 
 ror." 
 
 " Impertinent little pepper-box," returned the 
 father, with a chuckle. " Kerrison, you see what 
 result comes from educating a girl in the States. 
 Yet I don t know ; if she d been educated at home, it 
 would very likely be at the head of the militant 
 forces she d be marching to-night. To such a de 
 cadent pass have the mothers of men arrived." 
 Again that sweeping gesture. 
 
 For the first time since he had entered the room, 
 Jensen took note of Stephen Mallabee s hands. They 
 were remarkably expressive, well shaped, thin, and 
 spatulate; but the skin was rough and was discol 
 ored in places. They were the hands, not of a man 
 of leisure, but of a workingman, or, at least, of a
 
 person accustomed to performing rough work with 
 his hands; there could be no doubt about that. 
 
 With a peculiar thrill of having chanced upon an 
 important discovery, Jensen glanced upward into 
 Mallabee s face, scrutinizing it carefully and attempt 
 ing with some difficulty to call to mind the photo 
 graphs he had seen of Lord Cannonquest. As he 
 remembered these newspaper pictures, the man had 
 worn a full beard and had possessed a generous thatch 
 of hair, but whether the hair was white, red, or 
 black he did not know. In fact, he could recall little 
 more than the aforementioned dominant character 
 istics as he mentally reviewed the newspaper prints 
 of Canada s former premier. 
 
 Could it be possible that this man was not Lord 
 Cannonquest; that Kerry Mallabee had deceived 
 him ? He glanced her way to find her eyes search 
 ing his face, a tiny smile wreathing the corners of 
 her mouth. Somehow he knew that she was aware 
 of what he had been thinking, that she had found 
 him making mental note of her father s hands. Yet 
 her glance held no hint of displeasure. In his heart 
 he thought he trusted her, yet her demeanor was very 
 puzzling. 
 
 Jensen had found little that was informative in 
 the conversation so far, and during a lull, as the
 
 THE GAUNT, GRAY MAN 195 
 
 Chinese servant brought in a copper coffee-urn and 
 placed it before Miss Mallabee that she might serve 
 the drink, he attempted to turn the talk into chan 
 nels that might lead to something helpful regarding 
 Case BM432. 
 
 " You are justified in thinking Canada a wonder 
 ful country/ he declared to Mallabee. " Just how 
 wonderful we in the States scarcely realized, for we 
 supposed the northern portion of Ungava to be an 
 unexplored and barren waste, useless for any pur 
 pose, and here you are conducting one of the best 
 equipped mines in the world. I take it you have few 
 visitors, or we should have heard about it before ? " 
 
 The gaunt old man chuckled, and again Jensen 
 was aware of that uncomfortable feeling as Stephen 
 Mallabee s eyes met his. The good-natured chuckle 
 seemed oddly at variance with the glance of his 
 eyes. 
 
 " We have no visitors," he declared, " save those 
 we bring in ourselves, and we choose such carefully. 
 Should unwelcome visitors discover us by accident, 
 they could not return save at our pleasure." 
 
 The last sentence struck upon Jensen s mind with 
 the physical shock of a dash of icy water. He looked 
 sharply toward Kerry Mallabee, who was pouring the 
 coffee, as he said:
 
 196 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " Then I could not return to the United States 
 unless you were willing for me to ? " 
 
 It was she who answered; yet Jensen felt those 
 eyes of Stephen Mallabee s studying his face intently 
 as Kerry Mallabee spoke. 
 
 " You would find it extremely difficult, if not im 
 possible," she said. " First, you d need an outfit, 
 then you d need a guide. These things are all ours 
 to command. If we felt very bitter against you, 
 Boy, we might refuse them; but you may rest as 
 sured that we are not in the habit of treating our 
 invited guests in that manner." 
 
 Her soft utterance of the endearing title she had 
 bestowed on him took all the sting from her speech ; 
 yet the information she had given him persisted in 
 Jensen s mind long afterward and was very disquiet 
 ing. 
 
 " How do your people feel toward annexation ? " 
 inquired Mallabee. " I mean the ordinary run of 
 people, not your politicians. I know well enough 
 how the latter feel toward it." 
 
 " I think that our people in general would be glad 
 to see Canada annexed," answered Jensen. " If 
 Canada were willing," he added, " which I doubt if 
 she ever will be." 
 
 Mallabee broke into a laugh that jarred on Jen-
 
 THE GAUNT, GRAY MAN 197 
 
 sen s ears. " I see you misconstrue my question, as 
 does about everybody in the States to whom I have 
 ever put it. What I meant to ask was : How would 
 your people look upon the prospect of being annexed 
 to Canada ? " 
 
 The lambent eyes looked Jensen s way with a most 
 penetrating and puzzling stare. The idea Mallabee 
 had expressed was so revolutionary that Jensen could, 
 for a moment, scarcely collect his thoughts to form 
 an answer. 
 
 " I don t think they have ever even considered 
 that," he finally said, as he took a sip of his coffee 
 and noted that it was Yarguli, " but if they should, 
 I am certain they would be against it to a unit. 
 That would be like a child adopting a parent." 
 
 " Not at all," returned Mallabee quickly. 
 " Rather like a lost child returning penitent to its 
 proper parent." 
 
 " Now, father," chided Kerry Mallabee, who saw 
 Jensen flush patriotically at this way of putting the 
 case, " let us drop politics for the remainder of the 
 evening. If we continue in this manner, you and 
 Mr. Alan Kerrison will soon be quarreling. To-mor 
 row you shall " she cut her sentence and arose 
 from her chair with a look of sudden fright over 
 shadowing her face.
 
 198 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 There had suddenly come the noise of many feet 
 on the verandah outside, the sound of some one 
 pounding on the front entrance, and the stifled whin 
 ing of a dog. The Chinese butler who had been 
 standing deferentially at one side started toward the 
 door, then quickly turned milky white in color and 
 began to shake all over as hoarse shouts were heard 
 crying for " the big boss," and the blows on the door 
 were renewed with increased vigor. 
 
 Jensen glanced from father to daughter in amaze 
 ment, wondering what this turn of affairs could pos 
 sibly mean. 
 
 " It s those thrice damned Swedes," declared 
 Stephen Mallabee explosively. " What the devil can 
 they have got in their gizzards now? They ve 
 seemed ready to boil over ever since Big Dan left. 
 Gave them a half holiday to-day, because a dynamo 
 broke down, and the cook served out grog with their 
 supper. I suppose the fool let them have too much, 
 and they are drunk in consequence." Then he added, 
 as he waved away the Chinese servant : " Ah Long, 
 you trottee kitchen, chop, chop. I ll go door my 
 self." 
 
 The thoroughly scared Chinaman, glad to be re 
 lieved of an unpleasant duty, scurried out of the 
 room, and the master of Argyle House strode toward
 
 THE GAUNT, GRAY MAN 199 
 
 the door, reviling the entire nation of Swedes and 
 Finns in a growling undertone. Jensen and Kerry 
 Mallabee arose from their seats at the table and fol 
 lowed him. 
 
 Stephen Mallabee threw back the bolt and stood 
 with his six-feet-six of gaunt body in the center of 
 the entrance to their home as he shouted : 
 
 " You damned blackguards ! What do you mean 
 by banging on my door at this hour of the night ? " 
 
 Jensen could see twenty or thirty roughly dressed 
 men clustered about on the verandah. One of these 
 men was leading Peter Saint s dog by a rope, and he 
 noticed that a twist had been taken about Babe s nose 
 so that she could only struggle and whimper. He 
 wondered where Peter Saint himself could be. 
 
 A raw-boned hulk of a man with drooping, walrus- 
 like moustache and a vast shock of sun-bleached hair 
 crowded into a wool cap several sizes too small for 
 him, stepped forward from the crowd and spoke. 
 
 " Das dog here," he said, pointing to the struggling 
 Babe, " ban kill our bast men, Dan Larsen, at Little 
 Babos. Ah tank we ban hang her op to pole for 
 murder; but das here Pete Saint, he say we skall 
 hang him instead. Ay tank that ban pretty good 
 bargain," added the Swede gravely and slowly with 
 out a hint of a smile, " but some these mens say we
 
 200 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 skall ask big boss first." Two gigantic fellows 
 stepped forward from the center of the throng con 
 ducting Peter Saint between them. 
 
 " Ay tank one dog worth bout two kanuks, so we 
 bas hang Pete Saint and keep dog," added he of 
 the drooping moustache. "What you tank, big 
 boss?" 
 
 For his answer Stephen Mallabee gave vent to a 
 bellowing roar as he dashed among them, striking out 
 right and left. 
 
 " Loose that dog, you pigeon-brained larrikins, 
 and take your hands off Peter Saint," he cried. 
 Some forty of the man s sixty odd years seemed to 
 have sloughed from his shoulders as he dealt telling 
 blows among the Swedes. Before they had a chance 
 to gather their dull wits into either individual or 
 concerted action, he was back inside, dragging Babe 
 by her rope and leading Peter Saint by one arm. 
 Then he turned again upon the growling pack of 
 miners and with a world of scorn in his voice 
 cried : 
 
 " Get back to your bunkhouse, every man jack of 
 you, or I ll put you on half rations for a month. 
 Malamutes! If you ever had one sensible idea in 
 your brains, it would overbalance your bodies so 
 badly that you couldn t walk."
 
 THE GAUNT, GRAY MAN 201 
 
 The Swedes fell back sullenly beneath the old 
 man s tirade, and he began shooing them away as he 
 might have shooed a flock of sheep. 
 
 Jensen had started to rush to Stephen Mallabee s 
 side the instant he saw him strike out among the 
 Swedes ; but the daughter held him back. 
 
 " Don t mix in," she said. " I think father can 
 handle them ; he is used to it, and they fear him too 
 much to raise a hand. Sometimes he beats them with 
 a dog whip, when they are bad, and they never resent 
 it. They expect such treatment; it s the only way 
 to keep them in line." 
 
 Upon this occasion, probably because of the squir 
 rel whiskey they had drunk, the Swedes did not prove 
 as tractable as usual. They moved no farther than 
 off the verandah, where they stood talking among 
 themselves in Swedish. Finally the shock-headed 
 spokesman stepped forward again and said: 
 
 "Ay tank we skall have Pete Saint or his dog," 
 he insisted stubbornly. " Murder ban done ; some 
 body skall hang. Ay tank you bas send out Pete 
 Saint or das dog." 
 
 Stephen Mallabee was almost beside himself with 
 rage. 
 
 " You can have neither the man nor his dog," he 
 shouted. " If you don t get back to your bunkhouse
 
 202 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 within two minutes, I ll have you strung up by the 
 thumbs." 
 
 " Yas, big boss, Ay tank you mean keep das word ; 
 but who skall do das stringing oop ? " 
 
 The stolid Swede spoke slowly and in a dull mono 
 tone. He seemed about as easy to move as a ten-ton 
 granite boulder. 
 
 " Who ? " barked Stephen Mallabee, trying hard 
 to control himself and to be patient with this dull- 
 witted man. " The mine boss. He ll make you 
 dance for this. Don t you know he has guns enough 
 in the power-house to mow you all down like wheat, 
 if you don t toe the mark ? " 
 
 " Yas," droned the Swede. " We skall remember 
 all das; but we got cookie, mine boss, engineer, and 
 electrician locked up in cement power-house. They 
 say we skall not hang Pete Saint, so we take all das 
 guns over to bunkhouse and lock up mine boss and 
 das other men." 
 
 " What ! " shrilled Stephen Mallabee in a roaring 
 crescendo. " This is mutiny ! I ll have you all 
 hung for it." 
 
 " Mabbe so," stubbornly returned the Swede in his 
 dull monotone. " But we ban shoot up place a little, 
 first." 
 
 Several of his comrades stepped forward, draw-
 
 THE GAUNT, GRAY MAN 203 
 
 ing guns from beneath their mackinaws as they 
 came. 
 
 " Ay tank you bas send out Pete Saint or das dog ; 
 then we go back to bunkhouse," said the Swede, still 
 without raising his voice. 
 
 Stephen Mallabee appeared to be as little cowed 
 by the miners display of arms as he had been by their 
 importunate demands. For a dozen years he had 
 employed their sort, had ruled them with a rod of 
 iron. In his eyes they were little more than brain 
 less beasts, and so he treated them. 
 
 With a shouted order to " Drop those guns ! " he 
 advanced toward the muttering miners, evidently in 
 tending to remove the weapons by force if his demand 
 were not instantly obeyed. But this proved to be 
 one occasion when his beasts were not in a mood to 
 obey the crack of their trainer s whip. They had 
 lost their leader, big Dan Larsen, and the sole idea, 
 stolidly implanted in their stubborn, unreasoning 
 brains, was that some one should hang for it. It 
 was their custom to hang animals for murder the 
 same as humans, so why not in this case ? 
 
 As Stephen Mallabee stepped forward, the men 
 with guns took aim. Even then it is probable he 
 would have kept on had not the sounder sense of his 
 daughter prevailed.
 
 204 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 With a cry of " Father, are you crazy ? " she 
 grasped his arm and led him back, protesting, inside 
 the house.
 
 XV 
 
 AN ADVENTUBE IN THE NIGHT 
 
 "T Ti TELL, what s to be done?" asked Stephen 
 T V Mallabee, as his daughter snapped the 
 bolt on the door and led her unwilling father back 
 into the dining apartment. " You don t suppose I 
 am going to allow those thrice damned hooligans to 
 run my camp according to their own sweet wills, do 
 you, Kerry ? " he asked, storming back and forth 
 before the fireplace, while Babe trotted by his side 
 as if she knew it was he who had recently rescued 
 her from the rope of the Swedes. 
 
 " I don t see what else you are going to do, father, 
 for the present, at least," she answered. " Here we 
 are in the house without so much as a pop-gun to 
 defend ourselves, while they appear to be well armed. 
 You see now," she added chidingly, " how foolish it 
 was to think those beasts would always remain under 
 control." 
 
 " I wonder if they have got Evans, Pettyjohn, 
 Truesdale, and the cook cooped up in the power 
 house ? " said Stephen Mallabee, as he took down the
 
 206 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 transmitter of an inter-communicating telephone that 
 should have put him in connection with the power 
 building at the foot of the falls. There was no re 
 sponse to his repeated ringing. 
 
 " The malamutes ! " he raged, as no reply came to 
 his continued pressings of the ivory tipped button. 
 " They ve cut the wires ! But the men must be 
 there," he added, pointing a thin, bony finger at the 
 electric cluster hanging above the dining-table. 
 " Our lights are still burning." 
 
 A heavy tread of feet could be heard pacing about 
 the house on the verandah. Stephen Mallabee drew 
 aside the hangings of one of the windows and glanced 
 out. 
 
 A half dozen or more of the Swedes, armed with 
 guns, were doing sentry-go along the piazza in regular 
 order. 
 
 " Served their time in the army, every manjack of 
 them," said Mallabee laconically. " They know 
 just what to do, for all their denseness." 
 
 The Swedes former spokesman, he of the shock 
 hair and the drooping moustache, stepped close out 
 side the window to where Stephen Mallabee stood 
 looking outward. The lights of the dining apart 
 ment lit up his yellow, square-cut features, as ex 
 pressionless as if hewn from a block of oak.
 
 ADVENTURE IN THE NIGHT 207 
 
 " When you ban rady, big Boss, to send out das 
 Pete Saint or das dog, you skall say so," he shouted. 
 " Until then all you bas stay inside, or we ban shoot 
 up place. Ay don t Engelsk sprdk goot, but you 
 ban understan , huh ? " he added, with an ugly 
 grunt. 
 
 Stephen Mallabee shook his fist toward the stolid 
 face staring in at him, drew the hangings together 
 again and snapped an electric button that turned on 
 a row of lights along the center of the verandah roof 
 outside. Dense as the Swedes were, they seemed to 
 have wit enough to go to each one of these incan- 
 descents and smash it with the butt of their guns; 
 thus leaving themselves in partial darkness while 
 they could see much that went on inside. 
 
 " Mr. Kerrison," said Mallabee, turning toward 
 Jensen, " I fear this will prove to be rather a pro 
 tracted dinner to which we have invited you, since 
 it will be unsafe for you to leave while those addle- 
 pated asses hold us in a state of siege. Happily, 
 however, we can accommodate you nicely for the 
 night, and perhaps longer, for I have no idea of 
 turning over either my good friend Peter Saint or 
 his dog Babe into their merciful hands." 
 
 " If the M sieu ordairs, I shall go out," declared 
 Peter Saint earnestly. " I theenk we can geeve
 
 them wan good fight, my Baby, eh, what? They 
 catch us both asleep bafore, Sin Petair and hees 
 Baby, or we geeve them wan hot tarn then, eh, what, 
 my sugar-plum ? " 
 
 " Don t talk piffle, Peter Saint," growled Stephen 
 Mallabee, patting the habitan fondly on the shoulder. 
 " They may patrol Argyle House until their feet 
 wear off, but they shall never have either you or 
 Babe. They ve drunk too much whiskey; they ll 
 have cooler heads in the morning, and the wisest 
 thing we can do is to all go off to bed and rest easy 
 until then." 
 
 This nonchalant way of taking what seemed to 
 Jensen to be a pretty serious matter rather surprised 
 him. 
 
 " Would it not be a good plan for Peter Saint, 
 Babe, and me to remain up and see that the Swedes 
 don t break in ? " he asked. 
 
 " Break in ? " repeated Stephen Mallabee, with a 
 laugh. " If I were to open wide every door, invite 
 them to enter freely and take out Peter Saint, there 
 isn t a man jack in the crowd that would dare set his 
 foot over the sill. They are packed as full of super 
 stition as an egg with meat ; they call Argyle House 
 the home of a thousand devils/ and think these 
 highly artistic totem poles you see scattered about
 
 ADVENTURE IN THE NIGHT 209 
 
 were all carved in Sheol. Your Scandinavian peas 
 ant is not ordinarily an imaginative beast ; but when 
 he does get hold of an idea, uncanny or otherwise, 
 it lays in his brain and ferments like decayed fruit 
 until it is about all there is there." 
 
 Stephen Mallabee appeared to have calmed down 
 considerably since he had fairly caught the drift of 
 conditions. Jensen s face must have indicated that 
 he took matters more seriously than did the residents 
 of Argyle House, for Kerry Mallabee was quick to 
 explain to him. 
 
 " Father is accustomed to battling with rebellious 
 miners ; he s been doing it for many years. I really 
 think he rather enjoys it. Things will probably 
 appear vastly different by daylight, as he says, and 
 the wisest move for us all at present is to retire and 
 wait til then. I ll have Mon Toy show you your 
 chamber," she added, as she pressed an ivory button 
 beside the door. 
 
 The celestial was somewhat tardy in his response 
 to her call. Finally he entered with a wabbly walk 
 and with features contorted into a look that gave him 
 the appearance of expecting to meet the chief head- 
 chopper at any moment. 
 
 " Don t be frightened, Mon Toy," said Kerry Mal 
 labee reassuringly. " There is little danger of any
 
 210 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 one being harmed; it s only those miners having 
 another little drunken celebration." 
 
 She scorned to talk silly pidgin-English to them, 
 yet the Chinese servants appeared to understand her 
 quite as well as they did her father, who always made 
 use of it. 
 
 Mon Toy s face broke into a queer three-cor 
 nered grin. " Allelite," he said good-naturedly. 
 " Me no flaid ; but Ah Long, butler, he slay Swede 
 boys come chop, chop, klill evybody. Only dlunk, 
 eh. Huh, me no care, get dlunk myself one piece 
 time, pleraps." 
 
 The cheerful optimism of the Chinaman did much 
 to relieve the tenseness of the uncomfortable situa 
 tion, and after a few polite words of thanks to Malla- 
 bee and his daughter for their hospitality and ex 
 cuses for trespassing upon it, Jensen followed Mon 
 Toy to the east side of the bungalow where his sleep 
 ing room was located. 
 
 He did not really understand this new turn of 
 affairs; neither could he see what bearing it might 
 have on his own mission, yet he knew that he must 
 remain with the Mallabees. 
 
 Jensen found the room to which the Chinaman 
 showed him to be a comfortably furnished chamber 
 with an inviting bed and plenty of down quilts.
 
 ADVENTURE IN THE NIGHT 211 
 
 There was an electric thermal radiator in one cor 
 ner, and the room was pleasantly warm. 
 
 Being thoroughly tired from the long day s travel 
 after his period of illness, Jensen undressed at once, 
 tipped off the lights, and got into bed. He found it 
 difficult, however, to compose his mind for sleep. 
 For one thing the steady tramp, tramp of the miners 
 doing sentry-go around the piazza was a constantly 
 disturbing sound. Then, too, the thought persist 
 ently obtruded that he was not getting on as rapidly 
 in unraveling Case BM432 as he ought. True, the 
 situation did not permit of forcing matters. Alone, 
 as he was, so far from his own country and in the 
 home of one of the most wealthy and powerful men 
 in Canada, he could do nothing but wait for events 
 to shape themselves. Yet, boylike, he was impa 
 tient, eager to accomplish something, and the desire 
 drove sleep from his eyes. 
 
 So restless did Jensen finally become that he arose 
 and dressed again in the dark, thinking he might be 
 more comfortable moving about than tossing and 
 turning on his bed in the heated room. 
 
 He stepped to the window and looked out. One 
 of the miners, wearing a blue plaid mackinaw and 
 carrying his gun in prim soldier fashion, was just 
 striding past the window, his heavy feet clumping
 
 212 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 down upon the verandah with a hollow, ringing sound 
 that cut the clear, cold air like blows of a mallet upon 
 a barrel. Listening, Jensen followed the man s 
 movements. 
 
 He took some twenty paces to the south, met a 
 comrade there, turned back, passed Jensen s east 
 room, met a comrade from the north side, and then 
 reversed his march again, going toward the south. 
 He was a rather rapid walker, and Jensen noted that 
 he was often obliged to wait a moment or two at the 
 north corner before the man pacing the north side 
 came up. This other fellow, whose footsteps Jensen 
 could clearly hear, was a man with a slight limp and 
 a slow walker. 
 
 As he of the blue plaid mackinaw passed Jensen s 
 window, Jensen raised the sash very softly and 
 slowly and stuck out his head a little way. In meet 
 ing his comrade from the north side of the bungalow, 
 the man in the blue plaid mackinaw stepped around 
 the corner for two paces or so, awaiting the fellow 
 with the limp. During this brief space of time, the 
 east side of the bungalow was left unpatrolled for 
 perhaps thirty seconds. Jensen wondered if he 
 might pass from his window to the outer edge of the 
 verandah in that thirty seconds. The verandah was 
 raised some two feet from the ground, and if he
 
 ADVENTURE IN THE NIGHT 213 
 
 could make the outer edge, drop over, and crawl 
 along in the dark shadow, he thought he might pos 
 sibly get to the power-house and free the men con 
 fined there. Anyway, if he were unable to get to 
 them by this means, he could at least come back 
 again to his chamber in the same way he would leave 
 it. The adventure appeared inviting; he resolved 
 to attempt it. 
 
 Just after blue mackinaw had again passed his 
 window, Jensen raised the sash softly to its full 
 height, stepped out, closed it still as softly behind 
 him, and stood in the darkness, flat against the 
 brown-walled bungalow, until blue mackinaw turned 
 the corner toward the north. With blue mackinaw 
 safely around the corner, Jensen scuttled across and 
 dropped over the outer edge of the verandah, lying 
 close under the overhang of the floor. Blue mackinaw 
 came clumping back toward the south, apparently 
 quite unsuspicious of anything out of the common 
 order having transpired in his vicinity. 
 
 With blue mackinaw marching south, Jensen 
 slowly squirmed along beneath the shadow cast by 
 the overhang of the verandah floor until he gained 
 the north side of the bungalow. Here he of the 
 limp was patrolling effectively, and nothing offered 
 shelter for Jensen to get away from the bungalow
 
 214 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 without risking the danger of being shot at from 
 short range. He could see the power-house some dis 
 tance off to the northeast and could catch the steady 
 hum of the generators. Not far from the power 
 house, off a little to the east, was a long bunkhouse. 
 In order to gain the power-house, he must pass close 
 to the bunkhouse, unless he were to make a consid 
 erable detour to the west. 
 
 Suddenly, as he lay there looking toward the lights 
 of the power-house and waiting for the man doing 
 sentry-go on that side to turn his back, he saw three 
 men leave the bunkhouse and come running toward 
 the bungalow. This was a condition Jensen had not 
 counted on, and he began to crawl backward in the 
 shadow toward the east side of the bungalow and his 
 chamber. But the men were approaching rapidly, 
 while he was obliged to either move very slowly or to 
 stand up where his form would be quickly visible to 
 them. He saw he could not make the shelter of the 
 east side before the three men running toward him 
 would be so close that even a crawling form could not 
 escape their attention. One of the men now began 
 to wave his hands and shout loudly in Swedish. Jen 
 sen took this to mean the approaching men had al 
 ready seen him. 
 
 He was crouched low, ready to spring and make a
 
 ADVENTURE IN THE NIGHT 215 
 
 fight for it the instant they came within striking dis 
 tance, his back braced against the underpinning of 
 the bungalow verandah, when suddenly he felt some 
 thing give way behind him, and he was precipitated 
 backward. He had been leaning against a long, 
 barred basement window fastened with hinges at the 
 top, and this window had swung inward. He tried 
 to catch at the sides of the window-frame as he fell, 
 but they slipped away from his fingers and he hurtled 
 backward, turning a complete somersault and coming 
 down upon all fours on a cement floor. 
 
 For an instant Jensen was too dazed to think, then 
 he recovered himself, stood up, and looked out at the 
 swinging window where he had fallen through. The 
 three men were not in sight anywhere. Above his 
 head he could hear the tramp of the man with the 
 limp. It seemed that none of the besieging miners 
 had been aware of Jensen s presence in the vicinity, 
 after all. 
 
 There was but a single window in the basement 
 room where Jensen had fallen, and it did not afford 
 sufficient light for him to make out where he was. 
 He found a match in his pocket, struck it, looked 
 about, then dropped the burning match from shaky 
 fingers and fairly gasped with astonishment. 
 
 The dim rays of light shining from the match held
 
 216 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 shakily aloft showed him that the room into which 
 he had fallen was filled with ponderous machinery, 
 the nature of which there could be no mistaking.
 
 XVI 
 
 A DISCOVERY! 
 
 MOVING about as quietly as possible, Jensen 
 struck match after match and inspected the 
 basement room where he had found himself. The 
 room was some fifteen by thirty feet and extended 
 underneath the entire north side of Argyle House. 
 The floor beneath his feet was of solidly packed 
 cement, and scattered about were half a dozen or 
 more machines, each one with an individual motor. 
 Drop lights hung in rows above the machines, but 
 Jensen did not dare turn them on. 
 
 There was a huge melting furnace; a ponderous 
 cutting machine in which was a fillet of the white 
 " ithite " half run through, and below this a box 
 nearly full of round white discs about the size of half 
 eagles. There was also a die-stamping machine, a 
 machine for milling edges, and an automatic balance 
 for adjusting weights to the smallest fraction of a 
 grain. Strewed about on a bench were several hand- 
 fuls of the white " ithite " blanks, a few already 
 stamped with the design of the double eagle and
 
 218 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 milled, and a smaller number that had already re 
 ceived their coating of gold. It was evident to Jen 
 sen that only the " ithite " portion of the coins was 
 turned out here; the outer covering of gold was put 
 on somewhere else. 
 
 The discovery filled Jensen s mind with amaze 
 ment and elation, yet his heart sank with dismay. 
 The completeness of the plant, the ideal location, 
 hundreds of miles from any ordinary danger of dis 
 covery, at the very doorway of the needed " ithite " 
 supply, amazed him. The thought that he, a recruit 
 in the Secret Service, had made this tremendously 
 important discovery elated him, yet his elation had 
 its thorn, for here he stood surrounded by proof be 
 yond the shadow of a doubt that it was Stephen Mal- 
 labee, Kerry Mallabee s father, Lord Cannonquest 
 if the man really were the " Ironman of Canada " 
 who was at the head of this vastly clever counterfeit 
 ing scheme. It was he who had flooded the United 
 States with millions of dollars worth of coins so 
 perfect they would have fooled the experts of the 
 United States mint itself. This criminal was Kerry 
 Mallabee s father! Perhaps even she was as deep 
 in this scheme as her parent, she whom he could no 
 longer deny that he loved more than life itself. 
 
 Jensen permitted his match to flicker down until
 
 A DISCOVERY! 219 
 
 it burned his fingers, as he stood there studying the 
 situation. As far as arresting any one was con 
 cerned, there was nothing he could do. Even were 
 he armed, he could not go to Stephen Mallabee, cover 
 him with a gun, and take command of the situation. 
 Jensen was in Canada ; here he had no official stand 
 ing whatever. And if Stephen Mallabee were really 
 Lord Cannonquest, this affair was entirely a matter 
 for diplomatic adjustment rather than for Secret 
 Service action, Jensen knew that, knew it would cut 
 him out of the case entirely. 
 
 The more he thought of it, the more incredible it 
 seemed to Jensen that Stephen Mallabee could really 
 be Lord Cannonquest. The making of illicit money 
 could offer no temptation to a person of his vast 
 wealth, the man who had built and owned the Ca 
 nadian Coast to Coast Railroad, one of the most valu 
 able transportation properties in the world. And 
 neither did Mallabee appear to be a person whom love 
 of adventure would tempt toward a fraudulent scheme 
 of such magnitude. The man might be insane on 
 the subject, those peculiar eyes were seldom out of 
 Jensen s mind, yet he talked as little like a person 
 suffering from mania as any one Jensen had ever 
 heard speak. The only plausible solution seemed to 
 be that the man was not Lord Cannonquest, but some
 
 220 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 clever and unscrupulous rascal masquerading under 
 the great premier s name and fame. 
 
 Duty indicated but one course for Jensen to follow, 
 get back as quickly as possible to his chief and in 
 form him what he had discovered; then, he thought 
 with a tinge of disappointment, he would be entirely 
 out of it. They would probably set him to sleuthing 
 out some petty, mail-order swindler and tell him to 
 forget Case BM432 entirely; more seasoned men 
 would be put to work on that. 
 
 Yet getting back to his chief after the discovery he 
 had just made meant the playing of a deceitful part 
 with Kerry Mallabee, a part even more distasteful 
 than any he had yet played, and even the thought of 
 that was a poignant hurt. And there was the state 
 of siege that Argyle House was now in; how would 
 that turn out ; he could not even propose leaving be 
 fore that matter was settled. 
 
 He was still loyal to his chief; he felt certain of 
 that, and he must lose no time in getting to him. 
 His only hope was that Kerry Mallabee was not in 
 volved in her father s schemes. He had much to go 
 on in this hope, and he resolved to hold it close to 
 his heart until he should be confronted with absolute 
 evidence to the contrary. Comforting himself with 
 this thought, Jensen decided that the best thing for
 
 A DISCOVERY! 221 
 
 him to do at this moment was to regain his chamber 
 and so conduct himself in his relations with Stephen 
 Mallabee and his daughter that they should have no 
 suspicion of the damning discovery he had just made. 
 Later he would decide what to do about the discovery. 
 
 Having no idea how the rooms of Argyle House 
 were laid out, and knowing that he might wander 
 all over the great building without finding his cham 
 ber were he to leave the basement room from the in 
 side, Jensen determined to return by the same way 
 he had come. 
 
 He of the limp was still patiently at his sentry-go 
 on the verandah above. Jensen waited until the 
 patrolling feet sounded to the west corner and then 
 crawled back through the window, crouching there 
 in the overhang of the verandah floor. Here he 
 waited again until the Swede with the limp had 
 turned his back and was marching away; then he 
 proceeded to squirm along toward the east side of 
 the bungalow where his chamber was located. 
 
 Jensen finally gained the east side of the bungalow 
 and met a surprise. Blue mackinaw had been joined 
 by two comrades. They were standing directly in 
 front of the chamber window Jensen had recently 
 left, arguing drunkenly and vociferously in Swedish. 
 
 For a moment Jensen lay there, his head just
 
 222 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 above the edge of the verandah floor, watching them. 
 The argument seemed somewhat heated and 
 appeared as if it might be protracted as well. 
 One of the recently arrived Swedes was armed, as 
 was blue mackinaw. Jensen crawled along nearer, 
 thinking he might catch a word of English here and 
 there and gather the drift of what they were talking 
 about. One of the Swedes kept pointing toward the 
 north and spoke as if urging something upon blue 
 mackinaw, but he of the blue mackinaw always shook 
 his head stubbornly in denial. 
 
 Finally the Swedes, apparently coming to some 
 sort of an understanding, separated. Blue mack 
 inaw started off toward the south again on his 
 sentry-go ; the other two men walked directly toward 
 where Jensen was lying concealed by the overhang 
 ing floor of the verandah. 
 
 He crouched close and endeavored to make him 
 self as invisible as possible. For a moment he 
 thought he was going to escape their attention ; then 
 he heard their heavy steps very near and their voices 
 sounding almost directly above him. He looked up. 
 
 One of the Swedes was a square-headed fellow of 
 enormous shoulders and an unkempt yellow beard; 
 the other was undersized, with close moustache, 
 pinched features, and small, pig-like eyes. The big
 
 A DISCOVERY! 223 
 
 fellow carried a gun loosely in his hands. They were 
 still arguing violently in Swedish. 
 
 One glance assured Jensen that the two men would 
 leave the verandah at the very spot where he was ly 
 ing concealed. The big fellow was a little in ad 
 vance. Jensen decided he would rather take his 
 chances standing up than to have those big feet land 
 on his body while he was lying down attempting to 
 escape attention. 
 
 Just as the big Swede was about to step off the 
 verandah, Jensen arose to his feet with a wild yell. 
 Jumping forward with arms outstretched, he made a 
 grab at the gun the fellow carried loosely in his right 
 hand. 
 
 The apparition-like form arising so unexpectedly 
 in the night before them made both men fall sharply 
 back with astonishment. Jensen found the gun in 
 his grasp. 
 
 The slow-thinking Swedes were struck dumb with 
 amazement. Jensen had his plans well in mind. 
 Clubbing the gun, he brought the breech down on the 
 larger Swede s head with all the force his muscles 
 could muster. The man crumpled up like a polled 
 ox. 
 
 Jensen was turning to swing at the smaller fellow 
 when he felt himself grasped about the legs by a pair
 
 224 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 of wiry arms, and he stumbled forward. As lie fell, 
 Jensen thrust the muzzle of his gun downward toward 
 a black head he could see squirming about his feet 
 and pulled the trigger. The black head below ap 
 peared to burst like a bomb into a thousand pieces, 
 and Jensen felt his legs released. He could hear the 
 feet of blue mackinaw rapidly pounding his way. 
 There seemed to be sounds of running feet and yells 
 coming from other directions as well. Disentang 
 ling himself from the twisted arms of the headless 
 body below, Jensen arose and darted toward his 
 chamber window. 
 
 As he sped on, he heard the heavy feet of blue 
 mackinaw stop. He knew the man was taking aim. 
 Then there came a terrific explosion, almost in his 
 ear, and he felt a sharp sting like the lash of a whip 
 across his face. He turned and with clubbed gun, 
 swung out toward blue mackinaw. It was but a 
 glancing blow he struck, yet it turned the fellow away 
 and sent blue mackinaw s gun spinning from his 
 hands. Blue mackinaw darted toward his gun to 
 regain it. 
 
 Without waiting to lift the sash, for he could hear 
 heavy feet approaching from every direction, Jensen 
 held his gun out before him as a guard and crashed 
 his body through the window into the darkened room
 
 A DISCOVERY! 225 
 
 he supposed to be the chamber he had left a short time 
 before. 
 
 As glass and sash shivered into fragments before 
 the impact of his form, and Jensen half fell, half 
 staggered forward, a piercing feminine scream smote 
 his ears, and an electric globe was snapped on, blind 
 ing his eyes so that for a moment he could see noth 
 ing.
 
 XVII 
 
 CEAGGMOEIE 
 
 CHIEF HILKIE S motor-car, hired at Carldale, 
 shot up the avenue leading to the main resi 
 dential lodge of Craggmorie. Chief Hilkie was fol 
 lowing a lead that had little besides intuition behind 
 it ; yet more than half the success of many if not all 
 men engaged in the business of running down crim 
 inals starts in nothing more substantial than mere in 
 tuition, or, if you prefer, the possession of a sixth 
 sense, the ability to smell a rascal. Burns, the great 
 est of them all, acknowledges this. 
 
 The man in pursuit gets a certain idea about a cer 
 tain person fixed in his mind ; sometimes it has a firm 
 foundation of fact, more often it doesn t ; it is simply 
 a " hunch," yet lacking anything else, he accepts it as 
 a basis to go on. Sometimes the idea pans out, some 
 times not. When it does not pan out, you never hear 
 of it ; when it does, the news flies to the four corners 
 of the earth, a reputation is made and clinched. 
 
 Chief Hilkie did not go so far as to suspect old J. 
 J. Kerrison of being a counterfeiter ; he would have
 
 CRAGGMORIE 227 
 
 scouted that idea as being rather absurd. Yet the 
 chief did have the fixed idea that he wanted to know 
 more about the man, to come into closer personal con 
 tact with him, and to look into his ways of living and 
 doing business. Should this prove a cold trail, the 
 chief would forget it and pass on to something else, 
 as he had done with several previous ideas regarding 
 Case BM432. But being there, the only way to get 
 that fixed idea out of his mind was to follow it up. 
 As the chief expressed it to Beck, while they rode up 
 the avenue toward Craggmorie lodge : 
 
 " Kerrison is acting queerly. I want to know 
 why; so we will run up here and have a quiet look 
 around before we go back to the Carldale station. 
 Old J. J. has gone down to the station to board his 
 private car, thinking, probably, that he can have 
 it pulled out behind the Springfield Express that 
 comes through at two o clock; but we have securely 
 pocketed the Loch Lavon on the siding. This will 
 prevent his getting away for a while, and I ve fixed 
 matters so that the old fox won t realize that we have 
 him trapped for some time yet." 
 
 The chauffeur, Miller, appeared to be thoroughly 
 familiar with the locality about Craggmorie, and 
 they traveled up an avenue lined with giant trees at 
 a fast clip, finally coming to a huge, low, rambling
 
 228 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 building that proved to be the main lodge. Lights 
 were shining in the lodge windows, and the front door 
 flew open as the chief s car stopped. Two liveried 
 servants came out and appeared vastly astonished 
 when they saw that it was not the Kerrison car re 
 turning. 
 
 One of the servants, a big, burly fellow with a 
 pronounced English cast of countenance and a still 
 more pronounced English accent, made a show of truc- 
 ulence immediately the chief left his car and stepped 
 toward the door. 
 
 " Hi say there, you carn t come in ere," he said, 
 placing his form in the chief s pathway. " You re 
 hon private property, you know ; there s no trespass 
 ing hallowed. You ll ave to turn back himmideately. 
 That thick- eaded gate-keeper must ave been drunk 
 or asleep to let you in. Hi ll see that he s taken down 
 smartly for it." 
 
 The chief assumed his sternest demeanor as he 
 pulled a card from his pocket, handed it to the serv 
 ant, and said in icy tones: 
 
 " I have an appointment with Mr. J. J. Kerrison. 
 Take that card to him immediately. Tell him Chief 
 Hilkie of the United States Treasury Department is 
 waiting." 
 
 " But Hi say," stammered the servant, somewhat
 
 CRAGGMORIE 229 
 
 awed by the title of his visitor, " the marster s nort 
 at ome. You surely must have parsed im on the 
 way. E left nort twenty minutes back to go to the 
 railway station." 
 
 " I ll wait," snapped the chief. " He s expecting 
 me, and he ll certainly return soon." Chief Hilkie 
 beckoned to his two men as he continued. " We ll 
 wait inside and be more comfortable." 
 
 " Begging your pardon, sir, but you ll wait hout- 
 side, and houtside the grounds, too, if you please. 
 It s Mr. Kerrison s express orders that no one, posi 
 tively no one, is hever allowed inside the grounds 
 when he s nort ere," said the servant, stepping back 
 ward until his huge form filled the doorway. 
 
 " I will personally assume all responsibility for my 
 actions," said the chief. " Understand that you are 
 speaking to a representative of the United States gov 
 ernment and kindly conduct us to the reception room ; 
 we will await Mr. Kerrison s return there." 
 
 Chief Hilkie stepped toward the entrance, but the 
 servant was too quick for him ; before the chief could . 
 get inside, he found the door slammed in his face, 
 while a voice shouted from behind it : 
 
 " I don t care a tuppence for your government. 
 These are private grounds, and I d ave you hunder- 
 stand that you carn t play skittles on them has you
 
 230 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 please. Hif you don t leave hat once, Hi ll arouse the 
 gamekeepers and ave you chased hout with guns." 
 
 Realizing that further attempts to get inside the 
 house would only result in a messy row, the chief and 
 his two men re-entered the motor-car, turned about, 
 and started down the avenue toward the main road. 
 Out of sight of the lodge, the chief turned to Miller 
 the chauffeur, and said : 
 
 " Draw in here and stop. I m going to get out and 
 take a little scouting trip to see what s to be seen. 
 Come on, boys," he beckoned to Martin and Beck, 
 and the three left the car, going back toward the house. 
 They kept in the shadow of the trees until they 
 reached the main lodge; seeing that all was quiet 
 there, they passed around to the rear. Here they 
 came upon a garage and a building somewhat smaller 
 than the main lodge, that the chief took to be either a 
 gamekeeper s residence or quarters for the house serv 
 ants. The windows in neither of these buildings 
 were alight, and Chief Hilkie took it for granted that 
 if they were inhabited the people had retired. Back 
 of the garage was a high, wooded eminence with a 
 path leading upward. Up there the chief thought he 
 could see in the darkness a tall building with a light 
 in one window. Toward this building the three men 
 started.
 
 CRAGGMORIE 231 
 
 As they came nearer, they found the building to be 
 an observation tower of some sort, built much like a 
 lighthouse, with dome top and balcony about the 
 dome. There was a door at the bottom and one win 
 dow beside the door. The curtain of this window was 
 drawn, and a light inside threw upon the curtain the 
 shadow of a man s head and shoulders. 
 
 The shadow upon the curtain was clear cut, and as 
 he came to where he was afforded full view, the chief 
 uttered an exclamation of astonishment and started 
 forward on a run. 
 
 " Cracky ! the chap has either been murdered or 
 has hung himself," said the chief to Martin, who 
 raced along close beside him. 
 
 The shadowed head was sunk forward from the 
 shoulders, and from the neck a taut cord led up 
 ward. 
 
 Reaching the. door, the chief fumbled for the knob 
 and tried to turn it. The door was locked. Putting 
 their shoulders against it, the three men gave one con 
 certed shove, burst the door open, and stumbled head 
 long into a brilliantly lighted room. 
 
 A young man who had been seated at a table read 
 ing a book jumped up with an exclamation of sur 
 prise and reached for an automatic that lay close to 
 his hand among a clutter of clock-work like machinery
 
 232 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 on the table. Smooth-faced, light-haired and with 
 boyish features, the young chap did not look to be 
 more than nineteen or twenty years old. Across his 
 head from ear to ear he wore a band of brass with a 
 circular rubber receiver at one end; leading upward 
 from this arrangement was a heavy, insulated cord. 
 It was this affair that had made the shadow cast on 
 the window curtain appear as if he were a dangling 
 corpse. 
 
 Beck, a veteran in the United States Secret Serv 
 ice, had him covered with his revolver before the 
 young chap could fairly get his own gun off the table. 
 
 " Drop it," cried Beck, " and put up your hands. 
 Way up up or I ll shoot." 
 
 " I ll be dashed if I will," said the young man. He 
 ducked with lightning speed and made a flying leap 
 toward Beck s legs, catching the veteran Secret Serv 
 ice man about the knees with a perfect football tackle. 
 
 Beck s revolver barked harmlessly toward the ceil 
 ing ; Beck himself crashed headlong toward the floor. 
 The youth regained his feet and would have darted 
 toward the open door had not Martin caught him with 
 a bear-like hug around his arms and swung him back 
 into the chair beside the table. 
 
 " Used to play football myself," said Martin, with 
 an appreciative grin. " That was a plucky tackle of
 
 CRAGGMORIE 233 
 
 yours; but we re three to one, so you d better be 
 have." 
 
 The chief showed his shield. " We re not here to 
 do you any harm," he said, as he took in everything 
 about the room in a quick, roving glance and then fell 
 into a chair. 
 
 A look of relief overspread the young man s fea 
 tures. " Oh, officers ! " he said. " I thought you 
 were yeggs. What s up ? " 
 
 " Nothing much," answered the chief. " We came 
 up here to see Mr. Kerrison, and as he was not at 
 home, one of the house servants warned us off the 
 grounds. Walking about, we saw your shadow on the 
 curtain, thought you were hung, and broke in to cut 
 you down." 
 
 " Oh, I see, my receiver," he said, picking up the 
 brass band with its attached wire that had been pulled 
 off his head in the recent scuffle. " No, I m not hung, 
 yet," he continued, " but I may be in danger of it, if 
 I stay on the job here much longer. It s the most for 
 saken corner of God s green earth I ever struck. I ve 
 been here eight days, and there has been but six mes 
 sages for us in all that time." 
 
 The chief looked curious. The young man went on 
 to explain. 
 
 " This is Mr. Kerrison s wireless station. Didn t
 
 234 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 you notice the mushroom antenna in the air before 
 you came in ? " 
 
 The chief hadn t noticed it in the darkness and said 
 so. What seemed to interest him most, however, was 
 those six messages that had come in. 
 
 " You d better let me look over your message file," 
 said the chief. " I m expecting a wireless to Carldale 
 from the North myself. Perhaps you have caught 
 it." 
 
 For an instant the young man hesitated as he 
 glanced from the chief to Beck and back to the chief, 
 who happened just then to carelessly turn back the 
 lapel of his coat again as he caught the youth s 
 eye. 
 
 " Oh, well, I don t care much about the job, any 
 way," said the young man, reaching toward a drawer 
 in the table and pulling out a loose-leaf record book. 
 " The old crab will throw a fit if he finds it out ; but I 
 suppose government orders go ahead of his. You ll 
 find all the messages taken and sent for this month in 
 that book," he tossed the volume toward the chief. 
 
 Chief Hilkie opened the file book and ran through 
 the first few pages without any great show of interest. 
 The messages received were mostly orders from Ker- 
 rison to the house servants and gamekeepers regard 
 ing the conduct of the place. Those sent out were
 
 CRAGGMORIE 235 
 
 principally to New York, Boston, and Springfield or 
 dering supplies. 
 
 " About as exciting as a cookbook," thought the 
 chief, as he turned rather listlessly toward the last two 
 pages of the volume. Suddenly his grip tightened, 
 his keen eyes began to burn, and an exclamation of 
 astonishment escaped from his lips. 
 
 " Cracky ! " he snapped. " This is strange. 
 When did you get this message? Who did it come 
 from and who is Gold, Vermont ? " The chief 
 turned toward the young wireless operator and read 
 aloud : 
 
 " Gold, Vermont: 
 
 " Last order burned in Little Babos camp. Will duplicate 
 and forward through by special messenger. Acknowledge, 
 
 " SOLABI, Canada. " 
 
 " Oh, that ? Really I don t know who it is from, 
 or who it is meant for. It s a message that s been 
 banging against our antenna repeatedly for the last 
 half-hour, and I made a file of it solely because I ran 
 across another message to l Gold, Vermont in an old 
 file left by my predecessor. I telephoned down to the 
 lodge to ask if it was meant for us, but Mr. Kerrison 
 had just left, and no one there seemed to know any 
 thing about it." 
 
 Chief Hilkie eyed the operator keenly while he ex-
 
 236 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 plained the message the chief had just read aloud. 
 As the young man finished speaking, the chief spoke 
 sharply : 
 
 " Find me that old message, to Gold, Vermont. 
 I think it s the key I ve been searching for." 
 
 After a little delay, the operator dug the desired 
 sheet from a mass of dusty papers on a file hook, apolo 
 gizing : " Semple, the last operator, had no system 
 at all, left everything here in a filthy mess, and I 
 haven t got it all straightened out yet." 
 
 The chief ran his eye quickly through the typewrit 
 ten sheet, and his square jaws clicked together with a 
 snap of satisfaction. He folded the message, placed it 
 in his pocket, tore the last two pages from the loose- 
 leaf file, and tucked those in beside it. Then he stood 
 to his feet as he said curtly : 
 
 " Young man, what s your name ? " 
 
 " Levering, sir, Sam. K. Levering," answered the 
 operator. 
 
 " Levering, Samuel K.," said the chief, " from this 
 moment forward you are appointed a deputy of the 
 United States Secret Service. Stand by that machine 
 of yours, take everything that comes in, and file it for 
 my exclusive inspection. I am going down to the 
 railway station, my two men will remain here and see 
 that you do not become lonely and that no one from
 
 CRAGGMORIE 237 
 
 the lodge interferes with your work. I ll have some 
 messages to send out when I return." 
 
 There was a confident swing to the chief s shoulders 
 as he strode toward the door, signing to Beck to fol 
 low. Outside he said to his chief assistant : 
 
 " I can t quite see the thing clear, but there s some 
 thing mighty peculiar going on inside the Kerrison 
 Syndicate. I ve got enough in these wireless mes 
 sages to start old J. J. explaining, I think, and I m 
 off to interview him at the station, where I left word 
 with Widden to hold him until I returned. I ll be 
 back here inside of two hours. Wait here for me." 
 
 The chief hurried down to where his motor-car had 
 been waiting in the darkness on the Craggmorie ave 
 nue leading to the main road to town. Here he gave 
 Miller orders to let everything loose, make top speed in 
 getting back to the station, and they were quickly on 
 the way.
 
 XVIII 
 
 THE WINKING LIGHTS 
 
 AS Alan Jensen crashed through the window into 
 Argyle House and the pupils of his eyes ad 
 justed themselves to the unexpected glare, he saw a 
 slim white hand drawing back from the electric but 
 ton and a tall form dressed in beribboned negligee 
 standing staring at him from the far side of the room. 
 It was Kerry Mallabee. He had evidently broken 
 into her chamber instead of his own as he had at first 
 supposed. 
 
 "Turn off that light!" he yelled hoarsely. 
 " Don t you know you are making a perfect target of 
 us both ? " 
 
 The light was snapped off the instant the words left 
 his lips, and he heard Kerry Mallabee speaking : 
 
 " Oh ! it is you, Boy, and you are all covered with 
 blood. What on earth has happened ? " 
 
 Jensen put up his hand to his face ; it came away 
 wet with warm blood, and for the first time he was 
 acutely aware of a smarting line extending across his 
 face from the corner of his ear to the point of his
 
 THE WINKING LIGHTS 239 
 
 chin. It was the path recently plowed by the bullet 
 from blue mackinaw s gun. But a slight turn of his 
 head at the moment, and the bullet would have 
 broken his jaw and pierced the brain ; but he had no 
 time to think of that now. He turned back toward 
 the smashed window with gun clubbed ready to 
 strike. He had no ammunition, and the single car 
 tridge the gun held had been the means of releasing 
 his legs from the grip of the undersized Swede who 
 grasped them when he saw his larger comrade 
 crumple up under Jensen s blow. 
 
 He could hear half a dozen Swedes talking loudly 
 together outside ; yet they made no attempt to follow 
 him. He stepped closer to the window and peered 
 out. They were gathered about the body of the lit 
 tle fellow who lay there with his head blown off, pay 
 ing no attention to the big chap, who was sitting up, 
 rubbing his bruised skull and grunting vociferously. 
 The headless body seemed to fascinate them; they 
 acted as if it were something uncanny, kept point 
 ing down to it and then toward the window where 
 Jensen had recently disappeared. 
 
 Jensen felt a soft hand resting lightly on his shoul 
 der, and Kerry Mallabee s voice whispered close to 
 his ear: 
 
 " Tell me, Boy," she said, " what has happened.
 
 240 A SIREX OF THE SXOWS 
 
 Don t be cross. I didn t realize the danger when I 
 turned on the light I thought it was one of the 
 miners breaking in, I was so frightened I didn t 
 know what I was doing." 
 
 For the first time it came sharply to Jensen s mind 
 that he was in Kerry Mallabee s chamber. He 
 turned a face doubly crimsoned by blood and embar 
 rassment toward her as he stammered : 
 
 " Suffering Caesar ! It is I who should apologize, 
 I thought I was coming back to my own chamber. I 
 left it a short time ago, thinking I might be able to 
 gain the power-house in the darkness and release the 
 men confined there. But I found it was useless and 
 was coming back to what I supposed was my chamber 
 when I ran into two Swedes and had to make a dash 
 for it. One of them almost got me with a bullet in 
 the head." He gave Kerry Mallabee the essential 
 details of his encounter with the Swedes outside and 
 then added : " I offer a thousand apologies for 
 dashing in here. I will go at once. But you cannot 
 stay here, either," he continued, as he thought of the 
 broken window that was rapidly dropping the room 
 temperature toward zero. 
 
 " Xo, I don t think I will remain here," she said. 
 "We ll both go to father s den; he has a medicine 
 cabinet and first aid truck there, and I can attend to
 
 THE WIXKIXG LIGHTS 241 
 
 vour wound. Does it hurt, Boy?" she asked ten 
 derly. 
 
 " It is nothing ; a mere scratch," he answered. 
 " I ll step outside the door while you dress, if you 
 think there is no danger of the Swedes coming in." 
 
 He glanced out of the window again. The miners 
 had picked up the body of their dead comrade and 
 were all moving off toward the bunkhouse, leaving 
 that side of the bungalow unprotected. This was 
 odd conduct ; yet Jensen thought little of it at the mo 
 ment, so many other matters were on his mind. 
 
 " There is no danger of their breaking in here," 
 said Kerry Mallabee. " It is as father says : the 
 place is taboo to them. They probably took you for 
 one of those thousand devils when you rose up be 
 fore them from the ground outside and blew the head 
 off one of their comrades. And I am already 
 dressed," she continued. " I knew I couldn t sleep, 
 so I just slipped on this comfy robe and was sitting 
 here thinking and resting." 
 
 She led Jensen in the darkness toward a door lead 
 ing from her chamber into the main hallway. As 
 she opened the door, steps came hurrying along the 
 hall, and her father s voice was heard asking : 
 
 " What is it, Kerry, are you harmed ? I was 
 awakened from a sound sleep by shots. I couldn t
 
 A SIREN OF THE SXOWS 
 
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 Jensen leaned his head back in a comfortable, 
 leather-covered chair, while Kerry Mallabee carefully 
 and gently cleansed the wound, covered it with ster 
 ilized cotton, and then fastened the cotton securely in 
 place with adhesive tape, She was just affixing the 
 last length of tape and Jensen was thinking how de 
 lightful a sensation it was to find himself under her 
 skilful ministering care, when suddenly the cluster 
 of electric lights hanging above their heads went out 
 
 Mallabee, who had been sitting beside the fireplace, 
 jumped hurriedly to his feet 
 
 " What can that mean ? " he growled. " The larri 
 kins cannot have cut our main current wire. They 
 haven t the tools, and they wouldn t dare touch it; 
 they know it s alive. It must be something has hap 
 pened at the power-house." He strode toward the 
 window to look out in that direction. 
 
 The absence of some sound his ears had lately be 
 come accustomed to was puzzling Jensen s brain as 
 he sprang to his feet there in the darkness. For a 
 moment ho eonM not think \vh;it it \\:is. Then it 
 suddenly dawned upon him. The steady tramp of 
 the Swedes doing their monotonous sentry-go on the 
 verandah had ceased. He wondered what it could 
 me:m. lino! thev stopped to note the siuhlen shut 
 ting off of the lights ?
 
 244 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Almost before Mallabee ceased speaking, the lights 
 came on, remained on for a brief space, and then all 
 was as suddenly darkness again. 
 
 The oddness of it made the three people feel a 
 sense of some approaching calamity. They stood 
 rigid, looking and listening, expecting, they knew not 
 what. 
 
 Again the lights came on, only to darken again at 
 once. Then they snapped on once more, blinding 
 their eyes with the sudden glare. 
 
 The room was as quiet as the grave. Suddenly 
 Kerry Mallabee s voice, sounding strangely hoarse 
 and far away, cut the silence. She stood half 
 crouched over the table, with one clenched hand held 
 to her chin, and her eyes staring, speaking slowly, 
 with a swift, nervous intake of breath between every 
 word. 
 
 " T-H-E, Yes," she shuddered. " Oh, God, hurry, 
 what is it, what is it? S-W-E-D-E-S. Yes. The 
 Swedes/ " she repeated. 
 
 Her form seemed to sway beside him like a shadow 
 in the wind as she stared back into Jensen s eyes and 
 spelled out the message in Morse alphabet that the 
 winking lights were trying to send them from the 
 power-house. 
 
 Kerry Mallabee s hand reached out painfully and
 
 THE WINKING LIGHTS 245 
 
 found Jensen s arm. She clutched it with the des 
 peration of a drowning person. 
 
 " Yes, the Swedes," she said again. " Oh, God, 
 why don t they send faster, I can take it. H-A-V-E. 
 The Swedes have. B-K-O-K-E-N. I-K-T-0. 
 T-H-E. S-T-0-K-E-H-O-U-S-E. Yes," she whis 
 pered hoarsely. " The Swedes have broken into the 
 storehouse." 
 
 " Smash a globe if you get me," spelled out Kerry 
 Mallabee more rapidly now. " I ll feel the shock 
 here on the transformer." She reached up and broke 
 a frosted globe with her bare hand. The tiny, spit 
 ting report seemed to crash through the silent room 
 like a burst of thunder, so strained was the attention 
 of the listeners, standing there rigidly alert in every 
 sense. 
 
 Now the lights began to wink more rapidly, as the 
 man working over on the switchboard at the other end 
 of the feed wire realized his message was being taken. 
 
 Kerry Mallabee was so weak with the strain she 
 could hardly keep erect. Jensen longed to take her 
 in his arms, yet something, he knew not what, held 
 him from it. He stood there, feeling as if his limbs 
 were locked in an icy embrace, as his staring eyes 
 looked, and his ears listened. 
 
 " They have taken twelve cases
 
 246 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 of " she repeated. There was a long, maddening 
 pause, as if something were the trouble at the other 
 end of the feed wire. 
 
 " Hurry ! " she screamed. " Why don t they hurry. 
 They have taken twelve cases of what ? " 
 
 " Dynamite ! " 
 
 The snapping word left her lips in an explosive, 
 choking shriek. Then the lights began to wink so 
 rapidly that her hoarsely whispered letters almost 
 tumbled over one another as she repeated them. 
 
 " They have gone to blow up the 
 
 dam." The awful horror of this last sentence 
 seemed to lend strength to Kerry Mallabee s form. 
 She straightened, and a look of wild anger over 
 spread her face. 
 
 The lights began to snap on and off with dazzling 
 rapidity. It made Jensen s eyes ache acutely, the in 
 termittent, blinding glare. 
 
 " They are crazy drunk. They took out Petty 
 john, Vetch the cook, and Truesdale, and clubbed 
 them to death in cold blood while their hands were 
 tied. They got me, too, I guess, but I m good for a 
 few minutes longer. You d better hurry up on the 
 cliff, no telling how soon they may set off the dyna 
 mite and flood the canyon. I m I m all in. Can t 
 
 send any ."
 
 THE WINKING LIGHTS 247 
 
 The message slowed down, trickled off into a long, 
 blinding dash and the electric lights of Argyle House 
 and the life of stout-hearted Dick Evans went out to 
 gether. 
 
 Stephen Mallabee arose to his feet with an angry 
 gesture, cursing the miners with every oath he could 
 drag forth from years of repression. 
 
 " My five best men killed," he cried. " Poor fel 
 lows, poor fellows! And now those thrice damned 
 idiots are preparing to destroy the labor of my life 
 in an instant, burst the dam, and flood Black Devil s 
 Bed." He paused as if an idea had come to him. 
 " Intend to drown us all like rats in a trap, eh ? Per 
 haps, but I ll see that a few of them reach hell before 
 we do." He strode toward the door. 
 
 " Father ! " cried Kerry Mallabee, as she struck a 
 match on a fireplace tile and lighted a candelabra that 
 stood on the mantel. " What are you going to do ? " 
 
 " Do ? " he repeated explosively. " I am going to 
 blow up my own dam, and a few of those pigeon- 
 brained idiots with it, before they have a chance. I 
 was prepared for this; the dam was planted with 
 mines when it was built. I thought there might pos 
 sibly come a time when I would wish to wipe out this 
 entire undertaking at one stroke. But I never ex 
 pected such brainless beasts as they would be the
 
 248 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 cause of my wanting to destroy it." The tears were 
 almost in his eyes, and his powerful voice shook as he 
 staggered and fell into a chair, his body weakened 
 with the sorrow that overcame him. 
 
 " This is maddening," he continued in a choking 
 voice. " There are fifty of them, while we are but 
 three men and a handful of scared rabbits of Chinese 
 house-boys. There is nothing on earth we can do to 
 stop them." He stood up again, a towering figure 
 in his rage as he growled : " But I can send a few of 
 them to death with my dam, and I will." 
 
 " Now, father," said Kerry Mallabee soothingly, 
 as she placed her hand on his arm and drew him back 
 into the chair. " Do be calm ; this is no time for 
 thoughts of that sort. We must first get to the power 
 house somehow and see if there is any one alive there. 
 Then we and the servants can go to the cliff, out of 
 reach of the drowning flood that will come when the 
 dam bursts." 
 
 " Let me go to the power-house," said Jensen. 
 " I ve my gun for protection, though I doubt if I ll 
 need it. I don t believe there are any of the miners 
 left in the canyon. I missed the sound of their pa 
 trolling feet about the verandah some time ago." 
 
 " And take Peter Saint and Babe with you," said 
 Kerry Mallabee. " Peter knows his way about here
 
 THE WINKING LIGHTS 249 
 
 almost as well as a man with eyes, and he may be of 
 some help to you. I ll call him." 
 
 She stepped out for a moment and soon returned, 
 followed by the habitan and his dog. 
 
 " Now go, Boy," she said. " And if there is a soul 
 alive in the power-house, bring them here. I don t 
 believe there will be any serious danger from the dam 
 for an hour yet ; it will take the miners that long to 
 place enough dynamite where it will be effective. 
 Go, Boy," she added, " and return as quickly as you 
 can." 
 
 The patrolling miners had all disappeared. With 
 Peter Saint and Babe, Jensen left Argyle House and 
 raced toward the power building at the foot of the 
 falls. Lights were burning there, and they could still 
 hear the hum of the generators. This struck Jensen 
 as odd. If the lights were on here, why had they 
 been shut off at Argyle House ? 
 
 Jensen found the only power-house entrance to be 
 an iron door securely locked, and the long line of 
 windows was high up, far out of his reach. He 
 pounded on the door, but no response came from 
 within. 
 
 " Wait wan leetle bit," said the habitan. " I 
 theenk Sin Petair ees know wan way to get in ; there 
 ees the tool-house." He told Jensen of a nearby small
 
 250 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 building; searching there, they found two long iron 
 bars. 
 
 Armed with these bars, Jensen and the habitan 
 managed to spring the iron door so that the lock 
 snapped, and the door burst open. 
 
 Inside the sight that met his eyes was horrible, 
 sickening. Truesdale, Vetch the cook, and Pettyjohn 
 lay upon the floor, their limbs bound, and their heads 
 beat beyond human semblance. Before the switch 
 board, dotted with its black-rubber-handled levers and 
 its shining metal buttons lay the body of Dick Evans, 
 the electrician, a great, handsome fellow, with one 
 broken arm distorted and folded beneath him where he 
 had fallen as he stood at the switchboard and snapped 
 the lever sending the warning message to Argyle 
 House by which he hoped to save the residents there. 
 A great gash in the side of Evans head, half hid by 
 matted, blood-soaked hair, showed where the drink- 
 craned miners had dealt him what they probably sup 
 posed was a death blow. 
 
 The blood had run down upon his hand, and the 
 Argyle House current switch above was all smeared 
 with it. Poor Evans last movement before he fell 
 had been to throw off the switch in trying to make the 
 Morse dot for the final letter of his last word. 
 
 Jensen threw back the switch to " On," and through
 
 THE WINKING LIGHTS 251 
 
 the power-house door saw the lights shine up again at 
 Argyle House. Then he composed the body of poor 
 Evans as well as he might, softly murmured, " God 
 rest your gallant soul, old man," closed the iron door, 
 and left the building with Peter Saint and Babe. 
 
 There was nothing more that could be done there. 
 Unless some accidental breakdown were to occur, the 
 generators would continue to run for hours yet, sup 
 plied with power, as they were, from the ceaselessly 
 falling water in the turbine tower, though lack of 
 lubricating oil would probably burn them out in time. 
 
 Realizing that the Swedes would soon blow up the 
 dam and flood Black Devil s Bed, Jensen and the 
 habitan hurried toward Argyle House. All thoughts 
 of his recent discovery of a complete coining plant 
 beneath the bungalow had left Jensen s mind; his 
 overwhelming desire at present was to be of what as 
 sistance he might in aiding the Mallabee household to 
 leave the canyon before the flood came.
 
 GBEEK MEETS GREEK 
 
 X^IHIEF HILKIE S chauffeur, Miller, made ex- 
 V^ cellent time in getting back to Carldale station 
 after leaving Craggmorie. As they came within sight 
 of the shabby little railway building, the chief noted 
 that lights were burning within, and that the two pri 
 vate cars down on the blind siding were both aglow 
 with light. 
 
 " Pull up to the station first," ordered the chief to 
 Miller. " I ll see what Widden has to report." 
 
 Widden was standing in the doorway in his shirt 
 sleeves, wearing the station agent s uniform cap atop 
 of his strawberry blond hair. His rubicund counte 
 nance split with a grin as the chief bustled up. 
 
 " Came down here, did he ? " asked the chief, who 
 knew how to interpret that grin. 
 
 " He did," answered Widden. " And if you ever 
 saw a bear with a sore ear, you know what condition 
 he is in now. He came in here first with a tele 
 graphic order to have the Springfield express stop and
 
 GREEK MEETS GREEK 253 
 
 hook on to the Loch Lavon. I took it, and then 
 steered him down to Secretary Francis s private car. 
 When I told him whose car it was, and he saw the way 
 the Loch Lavon was pocketed, I thought he would 
 jump up in the air and burst. He stormed up to the 
 engineer on the Secretary s train and ordered 
 that they pull him out and down to Springfield at 
 once. You can imagine how quickly they followed 
 his orders, even if he does own the road. Then he 
 went into Secretary Francis s car, and they ve been 
 at it for the last half hour. Kerrison rages, and the 
 Secretary of State laughs. Tells him he can do noth 
 ing until you return." 
 
 Chief Hilkie hurried down the track and boarded 
 the car of Secretary of State Francis, the cherubic- 
 faced little fellow who had pulled into Carldale on a 
 special train just after the chief s arrival in the early 
 evening. 
 
 As Chief Hilkie opened the door into the drawing- 
 room, he saw J. J. Kerrison pacing up and down the 
 aisle, while Secretary Francis sat back in a comfort 
 able chair with his hands complacently folded across a 
 generous paunch, watching the old gold king with a 
 smile on his face. 
 
 " It s an all-fired outrage," Kerrison was snarling. 
 " This is my railroad, and you come in here, pocket
 
 254 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 my car as though it were you owned the road, and re 
 fuse to pull me out." 
 
 " Public utilities, I believe," smiled the Secretary, 
 " are always subject to government ordeis in case of 
 emergency." 
 
 " Government orders ! Bosh ! " answered Kerri- 
 son. " Government arrogance ! " Then he turned at 
 the sound of a door closing and saw Chief Hilkie. 
 
 For an instant Kerrison halted in his angry pacing 
 back and forth. A fleeting, hunted look overspread 
 his ivory features, his sharp nose turned to the right 
 and then to the left, as if his eyes were reluctant to 
 meet those of the Secret Service chief. Then his tall 
 form bent a trifle, and the oily demeanor he could so 
 easily assume upon occasion replaced his attitude of 
 soured anger. 
 
 " You see I spare no efforts to keep my appoint 
 ments," said the chief meaningly. 
 
 " I am sorry," said Kerrison, placing one hand on 
 the chief s arm and grasping his palm with the other. 
 " An entirely unexpected business matter called me to 
 Craggmorie. In the hurry of getting away, our ap 
 pointment for nine o clock at the Waldorf yesterday 
 morning slipped my mind entirely. I offer my 
 humble apologies. My secretary is asleep in the 
 Loch Lavon, if you will permit me, I will arouse him
 
 GREEK MEETS GREEK 255 
 
 and see that the order to my mine superintendent that 
 you asked for last evening is made out without de- 
 lay." 
 
 " Very kind of you, Mr. Kerrison, I am sure," an 
 swered the chief. " But, first, there is a question or 
 two I should like to ask you regarding a matter that 
 may have some bearing on the counterfeiting case I 
 told you about in the men s cafe at the Waldorf on 
 Monday evening." 
 
 " Of course I shall be glad to extend any informa 
 tion I can," said Kerrison, as both he and the chief 
 took seats. 
 
 " Who is Gold, Vermont ? snapped the chief 
 suddenly, before the tall old man before him fairly 
 had an opportunity to relax against the crimson cush 
 ions of his chair. 
 
 " Gold, Vermont, " repeated Kerrison smoothly, 
 " is a code name under which we sometimes receive 
 wireless messages from one of our mining engineers in 
 northern Canada. As you know, of course, it is neces 
 sary for us to be somewhat secretive about our pros 
 pecting ventures until we have securely filed our 
 claims. Otherwise, they might be pre-empted before 
 we really owned the mines. For that reason our 
 messages usually come through in a sort of code. I 
 presume you have gotten hold of one ; if you will let
 
 256 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 me see it, I shall be only too happy to translate it 
 for you." The old man drew out his glasses, held 
 out one hand, and tilted up his chin toward the chief 
 in the most unassuming, yet insinuating manner 
 imaginable. 
 
 A cheerful smile played about the face of Secre 
 tary Francis as Kerrison made his elaborate explana 
 tion, while the keen eyes of Chief Hilkie never left 
 the old gold king s face for a single instant. 
 
 " Yes, that explains that matter. Now who is 
 Solari ? " 
 
 The ingratiating smile never left Kerrison s ivory 
 features, but this time he was forced to utter two lit 
 tle hoarse staccato coughs, like the cry of a fox, be 
 fore he could answer the chief s last question. 
 
 " Let me see. Solari, " repeated Kerrison, hesi 
 tating. " I believe that is the code name of a young 
 man we have employed for some time named Spring- 
 vale. Yes, Thomas Springvale. He is an exceed 
 ingly capable mining engineer who is doing excellent 
 work for us up in Canada. I have been expecting to 
 hear from Springvale for some time, and have been 
 greatly worried that word has not come through." 
 Again Kerrison held out his hand insinuatingly to 
 ward the paper Hilkie held so tantalizingly in his 
 hand.
 
 GREEK MEETS GREEK 257 
 
 The chief found it difficult to restrain an exclama 
 tion of satisfaction. " Now I know lie is lying," he 
 thought. " Springvale has been dead for weeks, and 
 this message came through to-night." Aloud he said 
 nothing, but handed the message to Kerrison. 
 
 The old man read it slowly over the tops of his 
 glasses. 
 
 " Yes, yes, nothing very complicated here," he 
 said. " This probably refers to some ore samples 
 we were expecting. I will interpret it for you, 
 Chief Hilkie. Kerrison, Vermont. Last order 
 of ore samples from Prospect #32 burned in Little 
 Babos camp. Will duplicate. Springvale, Canada. 
 That is practically all it amounts to." 
 
 Kerrison looked up innocently over his glasses to 
 ward the chief as he continued: 
 
 " Really, Chief Hilkie, I fail to see how this mes 
 sage can interest you and what possible bearing it can 
 have on your case. Jt is, well, really, Chief, it is a 
 trivial matter of slight consequence to us, and of no 
 consequence whatever to any one else," he tossed the 
 paper aside as though it were a burnt match. 
 
 Heretofore the chiefs manner had been all defer 
 ential politeness. Now he assumed a more aggres 
 sive air as he sneered : 
 
 " Mr. Kerrison, your explanation does not explain.
 
 258 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 It is impossible for this message to have been sent by 
 Tom Springvale, because Tom Springvale died in 
 - Vermont weeks ago ; two of my men removed the 
 body to his home in Duluth. It is strange you did 
 not know of this ; I think his obituary was printed in 
 both your papers." 
 
 If the chief expected to confuse Kerrison by sud 
 denly confronting him with this fact, he was mis 
 taken. The gold king merely smiled a trifle more 
 tolerantly as he said : 
 
 " You must be mistaken about that, Chief. I am 
 certain the real Springvale is alive and well, or was 
 at the hour this message was sent." 
 
 Chief Hilkie was far too shy of actual facts to 
 press that matter any further. He also realized the 
 utter futility of further questioning a man who had 
 so little respect for the truth and no difficulty in pro 
 ducing a plausible explanation to any question that 
 might be fired at him. In addition the chief disliked 
 to show too much of his hand at the present time, so 
 he dropped the matter of the most recent message. 
 He had one more trump card, and he resolved to play 
 that. He produced from his pocket the first mes 
 sage to " Gold, Vermont " that had been received at 
 Craggmorie before Levering s employment and read 
 it aloud:
 
 GREEK MEETS GREEK 259 
 
 " Will you kindly tell me, Mr. Kerrison, what this 
 message means: 
 
 " Gold, Vermont: 
 
 " Ithite vein running low. Last new tunnel at sixty foot 
 level entirely barren. Advise us exact amount needed to com 
 plete work as per original plan. 
 
 " SOLAM. " 
 
 At last the look of oily affability left the counte 
 nance of J. J. Kerrison, the veins in his forehead 
 swelled, and his seamed features became fairly purple 
 with rage. He arose to his feet as if he were about 
 to strike the chief, then caught himself under con 
 trol as he cried angrily : 
 
 " Chief Hilkie, I did not expect this of you. It is 
 not honorable conduct. You have been tampering 
 with my former wireless operator. I discharged the 
 rascal ten days ago for incompetence. He seems to 
 have kept a transcript of my messages and to have 
 sold them to you. Under the circumstances I refuse 
 absolutely to explain. Notwithstanding the fact that 
 that message is of no consequence whatever, is as in 
 nocent as the other, I refuse absolutely to explain it, 
 absolutely, sir." 
 
 The tall, thin old man stalked angrily down the 
 aisle of the car and left it without saying a word of 
 farewell to either Secretary of State Francis or Chief
 
 260 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Hilkie. As they watched him take his departure, 
 both men realized that the recent little conversational 
 tilt with the gold king had left victory entirely on his 
 side. They knew nothing that they had not known 
 before. On the other hand, if old J. J. were actually 
 mixed up in Case BM432, he was now aware that 
 Chief Hilkie suspected him and the grounds for it. 
 
 The door of the Secretary of State s private car 
 had scarcely closed behind J. J. Kerrison when it 
 opened again to admit Beck, Hilkie s chief assistant, 
 whom he had left up at the Craggmorie wireless sta 
 tion with Martin and Levering, the operator. 
 
 Beck was breathing like a spent runner. Between 
 panting intakes of breath he cried to the chief: 
 
 " You re wanted up at Craggmorie, Chief. Some 
 body trying to get you on the wireless. I comman 
 deered one of Kerrison s cars and hurried here as fast 
 as I could." 
 
 " Who is it ? New York ? " snapped the chief, 
 jumping to his feet. 
 
 " Don t know, but don t think so," answered Beck. 
 " They refuse to say anything until they receive an 
 authentic return from you." 
 
 " I d better run up to Craggmorie in the car at 
 once," said Hilkie to Secretary Francis. 
 
 " Certainly," answered the rotund little man with
 
 GREEK MEETS GREEK 261 
 
 an appetite for nickel novels. " And I m going with 
 you; this is far too interesting to miss any part of 
 it." 
 
 Five minutes later Kerrison s commandeered 
 motor-car carrying the chief, Beck, and Secretary of 
 State Francis was again jolting up the road toward 
 Craggmorie at top speed. It was daylight now, and 
 they banged through all the Vermont speed laws with 
 reckless abandon.
 
 XX 
 
 ENGULFING WATEES 
 
 UPON arriving back at Argyle House after visit 
 ing the power station, Jensen found the place 
 in confusion. The half dozen Chinese servants were 
 beset with a panic of fear. With the exception of the 
 ever smiling Mon Toy, it appeared virtually impos 
 sible to expect sane action from any of them. 
 
 Stephen Mallabee raged among them, trying to di 
 rect the gathering of his personal effects in order that 
 they might be transported to the cliffs before the dam 
 burst and Black Devil s Bed was flooded. His usu 
 ally effective pidgin-English, however, now seemed 
 to convey no meaning to their scattered wits. He 
 persistently tried to explain that it was clothing and 
 his valuable papers that he wanted packed, but they 
 as persistently tried to gather together the household 
 stores ; one would run forward with some trifle like a 
 pot of orange marmalade, another with a handful or 
 two of tea in a cloth bag. Their stomachs, as always, 
 were the prime consideration; beyond those they 
 could neither think nor see,
 
 ENGULFING WATERS 263 
 
 "No! No! No!" shouted Mallabee, as Ah 
 Long the butler came up and thrust a recently used 
 aluminum skillet in among a lot of valuable engineer 
 ing drawings he was gathering. " No can take ! 
 Plenty eat, plenty stores, tea, coffee, much everything, 
 up on cliff top now. You go bring clothes, chop, 
 chop. Nothing else. Just clothes. You under 
 stand?" 
 
 He turned to Jensen as Ah Long trotted off and 
 added : " These blessed children can t seem to get it 
 through their thick skulls that the wireless pit up 
 above on the cliff is stored with everything needed 
 for several weeks stay there. All we can hope to 
 save here is our personal belongings and a few of my 
 most valuable books and papers. The rest will have 
 to go. Curse those drunken beasts; what an arrant 
 fool any man is to plan with success or failure hing 
 ing on the actions of such miserable material as they 
 are! 
 
 " How did you find things at the power-house ? " 
 he continued. " Were any of those poor fellows left 
 alive?" 
 
 Jensen told Mallabee of what had happened at the 
 power-house. This drove the old man off into an 
 other fit of wild rage against the miners. Finally he 
 became calmer, and Jensen assisted him in gathering
 
 264 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 his things together, while Peter Saint, with the threat 
 ening aid of a dog whip, managed to produce a more 
 rational effort from the Chinese. This blind habitan, 
 who moved about almost as well as men with perfect 
 eyesight, seemed to possess a sort of fascination for 
 the Chinese " boys." 
 
 At last everything Mallabee desired most to pre 
 serve was gathered and prepared for transportation. 
 Then he began shouting about the house for his 
 daughter. 
 
 Kerry Mallabee s first question when she came in, 
 dressed for outdoors, was for brave Dick Evans, and 
 she could not hold back the tears when Jensen told her 
 of his gallant conduct and untimely end at the hands 
 of the drink-crazed miners. 
 
 As she listened, her sad eyes were fastened on her 
 father s face, and Jensen could not help but catch the 
 impression that she was holding Mallabee in some 
 measure responsible for the present terrible condi 
 tion of affairs. To be sure there was little ground 
 for Jensen to go upon in gathering such an idea, and 
 he realized that his feeling toward her might be 
 largely responsible for it; yet the impression per 
 sisted. 
 
 After a moment of racking sobs, Kerry Mallabee 
 pulled herself together.
 
 ENGULFING WATERS 265 
 
 " Come," she said to the Chinese servants, who were 
 bunched together, shivering with terror, in a corner, 
 " we must lose no time, but get to the cliff at once." 
 
 Without the remotest idea of the true nature of 
 what was really impending, the Chinese were like rab 
 bits in their fear, willing to run anywhere so long as it 
 was running, and as soon as they were loaded with 
 packs, they were glad to start for the cliff. Led by 
 Peter Saint, the team dogs, also loaded, and the intelli 
 gent Babe, who occasionally dropped back and at 
 tempted to accelerate the pace of the Chinese " boys " 
 by snapping at their heels, they scuttled off with their 
 burdens. Jensen, Kerry Mallabee, and her father 
 followed, after bidding a last good-by to Argyle 
 House. 
 
 It was getting well on toward morning. The moon 
 had vanished; but the myriad stars that dotted the 
 sky made the pathway to the cliff almost as clear as 
 at noonday. 
 
 Kerry Mallabee, being more familiar with the way, 
 went first. Jensen followed close behind her, and 
 Stephen Mallabee brought up the rear. A dozen 
 times Mallabee halted to look fondly back on the 
 peaceful scene below and to break out in maledictions 
 on the heads of the miners who were even now work 
 ing to destroy his home.
 
 266 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 The stillness about was complete. Off to the right, 
 the lights in the power-house continued to burn 
 brightly, but the hum of the generators was stilled 
 from this distance. The lights of Argyle House 
 shone cheerfully forth, and there was no single note in 
 this ideally perfect scene to indicate the destruction 
 being prepared for it above the falls. 
 
 The hurried preparations for attaining the cliffs 
 had taken but a short time, and Jensen considered 
 it would be at least half an hour yet before the miners 
 could explode their dynamite at the dam. 
 
 The uphill climb was hard, and the three people 
 had paused to rest a moment, silently gazing down 
 into the depths of Black Devil s Bed, when suddenly 
 their ear drums were smitten with a terrific explosion, 
 and the ground beneath them heaved and swayed so 
 violently that they staggered and fell. 
 
 Their stunned brains had scarcely recovered from 
 the shock and concussion of the first explosion, when 
 there came another, even more violent, and a great, 
 ugly, mushrooming column of thick, black smoke spit 
 itself up into the star-spangled sky off to the north 
 west. 
 
 " They ve done it," groaned Stephen Mallabee, as 
 he recovered from the shock and arose to his feet. 
 " It took me three years, with the best engineering
 
 ENGULFING WATERS 267 
 
 skill money could hire and one hundred and fifty 
 thousand pounds in money, to build that dam. Now 
 fifty pigeon-brained larrikins with thirty pounds 
 worth of forty per cent. have scrapped the whole 
 thing beyond repair in an hour. It almost makes a 
 man believe there is no God." 
 
 For perhaps five minutes following the two explo 
 sions there was no sound. The stillness was so deep 
 it almost hurt their ears. Then, suddenly, the three 
 people standing there were aware of a dull, sullen 
 roar, like some world in sore travail, at first low, then 
 increasing until it seemed as if it were their own 
 earth moaning with pain. The ominous sound com 
 pletely filled the air, fairly made their brains hum 
 with its terrible intensity and soul-grinding power. 
 Instinctively their eyes turned toward the falls. 
 
 There was nothing untoward to be seen there, only 
 the tiny glistening ribbon of star-flecked water, drop 
 ping silently and smoothly, like a fluttering bridal 
 veil, dotted here and there with white specks of 
 spume that reflected the stars cold glow. Cease 
 lessly and beautifully it flowed down beside the cir 
 cular turbine tower, its final drop hid by the uprising 
 curtain of warm, feathery mist it created anew each 
 moment as it fell. 
 
 Then, suddenly, it seemed as if the very vault of
 
 268 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 blue above had burst. A gigantic wall of black water 
 hung for one single instant at the summit of the falls 
 and then dropped. With a mighty, thundering crash 
 that made all previous sound seem pitifully puny, it 
 filled the hollow of Black Devil s Bed, and they saw 
 the flood pick up Argyle House as though the great 
 building were but a cockle burr, toss it about in gi 
 gantic playfulness, and then whirl it madly toward 
 the lower outlet of the canyon to dash it repeatedly 
 against the walls until the timbers cracked and the 
 house burst and became a million splinters of useless 
 wood. 
 
 Within a space of less than sixty seconds what had 
 been a perfectly equipped mining camp became a 
 whirlpool of tumbling water, racing madly toward 
 the outlet. Black Devil s Bed was now a lake, the 
 tiny falls a thundering torrent two hundred feet 
 across. 
 
 The three people stood silent with staring eyes. 
 Stephen Mallabee was the first to speak. 
 
 " God in heaven, what is that ? " he cried, bending 
 down and pointing a lean finger toward something in 
 the water, tossing this way and that just below where 
 they stood. 
 
 Jensen and Kerry Mallabee looked where he 
 pointed. They could make out what seemed to be a
 
 ENGULFING WATERS 269 
 
 man struggling in the water. As if perpetrating 
 some grim joke, the whirling flood suddenly flung 
 this plaything upon the sloping trail a few feet below 
 them. Jensen descended to where it lay. 
 
 It was his old friend Blue Mackinaw, lying there 
 with pasty features and staring, unseeing eyes. One 
 arm of the dead man was missing, and a leg had been 
 severed at the knee. Now that he was nearer the 
 water line, Jensen could see more than a score of 
 mutilated forms, legs, arms, hands, and heads, being 
 tossed in the eddies and whirlpools among the patches 
 of mush ice. 
 
 The voice of Stephen Mallabee spoke close to Jen 
 sen s ear, his tones sad and broken in contrast to the 
 man s usual masterful and aggressive manner of 
 speech. 
 
 " You see ? " said Mallabee, pointing to the grisly, 
 floating objects racing past, " I doubt if a single 
 miner has escaped. In detonating their own dyna 
 mite, they exploded every one of my mines with the 
 shock. No man would live within a hundred feet of 
 those terrific charges and the fusillading blocks of 
 cement ; yet the Swedes probably knew no better than 
 to stand directly over my mines. Thus is pig 
 headed ignorance always its own undoing." 
 
 For a moment they stood there watching the water
 
 270 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 bear its burden of maimed forms past them toward 
 the outlet. Judging by the number of bodies, it did 
 not look as if any of the miners had missed death in 
 the explosion. Sickened with the sight, they finally 
 went toward the cliff top. 
 
 Gaining the cliff, Jensen walked beside Stephen 
 Mallabee toward the two tall, wireless masts that 
 could be seen sharply silhouetted against the sky a 
 short distance ahead. Kerry Mallabee had either 
 gone on before or was lingering somewhere in the 
 rear, Jensen did not know which. 
 
 The old man s face was seamed with sorrow, his 
 head sunk forward as he walked. 
 
 " It is a terrible thing for the lives of men to be 
 snuffed out so suddenly," he said, " even such stub 
 born, brainless brutes as those miners were. In my 
 anger, I thought I was ready to send them to their 
 death myself, but I couldn t have done it. To think 
 of such purposeless death affects me deeply." 
 
 As they came nearer to the wireless masts, Jensen 
 saw that they were supported entirely by guy wires, 
 and that each rested with a ball and socket joint upon 
 an insulated base sunk in a solid cement foundation. 
 He remarked upon the peculiarity to Mallabee. 
 
 "It is my own improvement upon the German 
 Telefunken system," explained Mallabee. " You
 
 ENGULFING WATERS 271 
 
 will see a comfortable underground home here. I 
 found it difficult to dispatch wireless with ordinary 
 instruments on the three-step system in the extremely 
 cold and peculiarly damp air here beside our warm 
 river, so I built an underground house of cement to 
 obtain an equable temperature, and I use instruments 
 largely of my own invention. Mine has many im 
 provements over any other wireless system ; yet I had 
 expected to go much further. Kerry has been my 
 chief operator. We send five thousand miles without 
 difficulty in good weather." 
 
 They found Peter Saint, the dogs, and the Chinese 
 house-servants already at the wireless station, and 
 Stephen Mallabee showed Jensen through a cleverly 
 constructed underground home that, though much 
 smaller, was not far behind Argyle House in the com 
 forts it afforded. Huge storage batteries produced 
 ample current for the wireless, for light, and for cul 
 inary purposes. 
 
 " I was always prepared to abandon Argyle House, 
 you see," said Mallabee, pointing to the storage bat 
 teries, as he reached up with the other hand and 
 snapped off several of the lights, " but we must be 
 extremely economical of our current, now that our 
 power station is gone. These are ithite batteries, 
 an invention of my own, and very powerful ; but they
 
 272 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 cannot last forever, and now we have no means of re 
 charging them." 
 
 They took seats in what appeared to be the living- 
 room of the underground home. 
 
 " We shall remain here but a short time," con 
 tinued Mallabee. " My yacht is always cruising in 
 the vicinity of Ungava Bay, during the open season, 
 and Kerry will get in touch with them on the wireless 
 as soon as she comes in. They will send a relief 
 party down and take us out. I wonder where Kerry 
 can have disappeared to ? " he added rather petul 
 antly. 
 
 " I think she must have remained behind watching 
 the falls," answered Jensen. " The destruction of 
 Argyle House appeared to affect her deeply. It was 
 an awful thing to witness, her home vanishing in 
 an instant." 
 
 " Yes," said Mallabee. " Trouble piled upon 
 trouble, like Pelion upon Ossa. You have found us 
 in nothing but trouble since you arrived, Kerrison. I 
 am sorry indeed that our welcome had to be so brutal. 
 At least, we can send you back in comparative com 
 fort. I presume you will prefer to return to the 
 States over the same route by which you came. We 
 can outfit you with dogs and komatic and give you 
 Babe and Peter Saint for guides; no one knows the
 
 ENGULFING WATERS 273 
 
 trail along my camps from here to Lake Lucann and 
 on to Quebec better than those two, for all the man 
 is blind. The recent storm was an unusually early 
 one, and you should have good weather returning." 
 
 Jensen scarcely knew what to say in answer to this 
 hospitable offer. He realized that in it lay his sole 
 hope of getting back ; yet the thought of what he was 
 returning for, to add to Mallabee s trouble and sor 
 row, to denounce this wonderful old man as a maker 
 of counterfeit coin, disturbed him. 
 
 His heart was racked with indecision; he could 
 only stammer halting thanks for Mallabee s generous 
 offer and leave the matter still hanging in the air. 
 At the moment he did not see how he could accept and 
 retain his self-respect. " Yet," he thought, " what 
 else was there to do; where did run the path of 
 honor ? " 
 
 Stephen Mallabee excused himself for a moment to 
 go to the wireless room, and Jensen sat there alone 
 thinking of the peculiar position in which his dis 
 covery at Argyle House had placed him. It was 
 maddening in its conflicting features, urging him this 
 way and then turning him toward some directly oppo 
 site course. He arose and paced back and forth in a 
 ferment of indecision. 
 
 He thought of brave Dick Evans, dying and with
 
 274 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 a broken arm, standing up and holding death at bay 
 until his message of warning should be received and 
 understood at Argyle House. He thought of Peter 
 Saint and his wonderful dash into the burning Little 
 Babos cabin ; of all that Kerry Mallabee had done to 
 save his life when his brain was beset with delirium 
 and his blood filled with the terrible germs of sep- 
 ticemia. 
 
 " God ! " he cried. " How could any man with 
 a human heart in his breast and honor in his soul 
 turn on them now? I can t do it! I simply can t 
 do it. 
 
 " And yet, and yet," he thought, " loyalty to the 
 Service; loyalty to his own United States! Were 
 they not greater than all else in the world? Could 
 any man bear to live who had failed in loyalty to 
 his native land ? " 
 
 " Could any man live could any man live " 
 he found the sentence racing a repeated course 
 through his bewildered brain, as he stood with 
 clenched fists and unseeing, staring eyes. " That 
 was it; could a man continue to live in honor in 
 either case ? " 
 
 He dashed up and into the outer air in a tumult 
 of emotion. He would find Kerry Mallabee, tell 
 her all, and then death in the waters of Black Devil s
 
 ENGULFING WATERS 275 
 
 Bed. It was the only thing, the only course open 
 with honor clear ahead. 
 
 He ran toward the edge of the cliff and saw her 
 standing there, alone.
 
 XXI 
 
 THE FEOZEN MAN 
 
 KERRY MALLABEE S back was turned to 
 ward him; she did not hear his footsteps on 
 the snow-covered ground. Jensen had almost gained 
 her side and was about to speak, when his eyes 
 caught sight of several dark figures moving far 
 down the trail over which he had come to Camp 
 Argyle. His first thought was that it must be some 
 of the Swedes who had miraculously escaped the 
 fury of the explosion when the dam above Black 
 Devil Falls was blown up. 
 
 A second look convinced him that the people com 
 ing were not miners. One was an Indian, the other 
 two were white men with gaunt, skull-like faces. 
 Kerry Mallabee had seen them now; she was hurry 
 ing forward. Jensen ran on close behind her, aware 
 that the approaching people were in great distress. 
 
 One of the white men stopped and weakly shouted 
 something; then he fell forward on his face. The 
 other man staggered on blindly, barely able to move.
 
 THE FROZEN MAN 277 
 
 The Indian appeared in better physical condition and 
 kept on running. Before Kerry Mallabee and Jen 
 sen could reach them, the second white man was on 
 his hands and knees, making painful progress; a 
 moment later he, too, gave up, lurched forward, and 
 lay still. 
 
 " Who can they be ? " shouted Jensen in Kerry 
 Mallabee s ear, as they raced down the trail. All 
 thought of his own recent troubles were forgotten in 
 this new excitement. 
 
 " I haven t any idea," she answered. " But they 
 must have had a terrible journey; they look thor 
 oughly beat out." 
 
 They reached the Indian first. He was an old 
 man, his brown face seamed with wrinkles ; his cloth 
 ing was cheap and thin, yet he appeared to be suffer 
 ing more from starvation than with the cold. He 
 stopped, pointed repeatedly to his mouth, and rubbed 
 his hollow stomach, mouthing an unintelligible gib 
 berish the only understandable word of which was 
 " Hongry." 
 
 " Yes, you shall soon have food," answered Kerry 
 Mallabee reassuringly. " But we must get those 
 other two men up and help them toward the house." 
 She grasped the Indian s arm and dragged him back 
 to where one of the white men lay prone upon the
 
 278 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 snow-covered ground. Jensen hurried down the trail 
 toward the other. 
 
 Jensen leaned forward and turned the form over. 
 The man s eyes were open, staring, but he was past 
 all human aid. His foam-flecked lips and frost- 
 blackened face told their story of a losing fight 
 against storm and starvation. Jensen hurriedly 
 thrust his hand beneath the man s clothing and felt 
 for his heart ; there was no sign of a beat ; the body 
 was cold. He stood up and looked back toward the 
 others. Kerry Mallabee and the Indian had assisted 
 the first man to his feet. 
 
 "What s the matter; is that man unconscious?" 
 Kerry Mallabee shouted back to Jensen. 
 
 " Past that," he answered. " He is dead." 
 
 " Come up and help me get this man up to the 
 house," cried Kerry Mallabee. " The Indian is 
 useless; he can t understand anything I say." 
 
 Jensen ran to them and swung his own arm sup- 
 portingly beneath the arms of the staggering man. 
 With Kerry Mallabee supporting the fellow on the 
 other side, they started toward the Mallabees under 
 ground home. The Indian followed like an animal, 
 rubbing his stomach and moaning the single word 
 " Hongry." 
 
 The white man they assisted was a burly fellow,
 
 THE FROZEN MAN 279 
 
 yet he appeared weak as a child. His discolored face 
 was covered with a two weeks growth of beard. He 
 mumbled incessantly to himself, as if in delirium; 
 yet he apparently had no fever. 
 
 Stephen Mallabee had either heard or observed 
 their coming. He stepped from the entrance to the 
 underground house just as his daughter and Jensen 
 came up. 
 
 " Good God ! What has happened ? Who is 
 it ? " he cried excitedly. 
 
 " I don t know who it is," answered his daughter. 
 " There were three of them came up Trail Number 
 One; the other white man fell dead back there a 
 little way. This man is in terrible condition; but 
 I think he can be saved. The Indian is all right, 
 except for hunger. Call Peter Saint, please, father, 
 and tell him to feed the Indian carefully. Peter 
 will know how to handle him." 
 
 They laid the white man upon a couch in the liv 
 ing-room. Kerry Mallabee soon had a cup of hot 
 milk and brandy ready and was forcing it down his 
 throat in teaspoonful doses. She had taken full com 
 mand, and both Jensen and her father bustled about 
 filling her orders like obedient nurses in a hospital 
 ward. 
 
 The man s face had been badly frost-bitten, as had
 
 280 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 both his hands and feet. Some one had given his 
 limbs attention, and they were wrapped in cloths. 
 Jensen unwound the wrappings, under Kerry Malla- 
 bee s direction, and found the hands in fair condi 
 tion; the feet were not doing as well. He washed 
 and dressed both members, and the man became more 
 comfortable. He ceased his querulous mumblings 
 and willingly took the milk and brandy Kerry Malla- 
 bee administered. 
 
 While Stephen Mallabee and Jensen stood await 
 ing further orders from Kerry, Mon Toy came in 
 and announced that breakfast was ready. 
 
 "You and father must go to breakfast," said 
 Kerry to Jensen. " After you have finished, come 
 back here, Boy, and remain with this sick man while 
 I take my breakfast. Tell Foon Low to keep plenty 
 of strong coffee smoking hot for me ; I need it after 
 this." 
 
 The frozen man had been in a horrible condition, 
 and Kerry Mallabee was white with the sight of it ; 
 yet she bravely held herself together and waved her 
 father and Jensen from the room in spite of their 
 protests. 
 
 After breakfast, Stephen Mallabee left the under 
 ground house to inspect the blown-up dam, and Jen 
 sen returned to the living-room to relieve the daugh-
 
 THE FROZEN MAN 281 
 
 ter. He found her patient had fallen asleep. There 
 was a strange new look in Kerry Mallabee s face that 
 he could not fathom. 
 
 " I don t think you need do anything but sit here 
 and watch," she said. " If he awakens, give him a 
 tablespoonful of the hot milk from that thermos, 
 never more than a tablespoonful at a time. If any 
 thing occurs, be sure to summon me. Where is 
 father?" 
 
 " Your father has just gone to the dam above 
 Black Devil Falls to ascertain how badly it has been 
 wrecked," answered Jensen. " He cannot seem to 
 efface the death of those Swedes from his mind." 
 
 " Poor father, I must not let him go up there 
 alone," said Kerry, as she hurried from the room. 
 
 Jensen drew up a chair beside the patient and 
 leaned back, so wearied both mentally and physically 
 he could scarcely think. He was like a man who 
 had come upon a blank wall at the end of a fatiguing 
 day s journey and lacked sufficient ambition to dis 
 cover whether he might surmount it or go around it. 
 
 Save for an occasional series of muffled explosions 
 in the near-by wireless room, the underground house 
 was quiet. Once the man upon the couch awoke. 
 Jensen fed him with the hot milk and attempted to 
 question him, but he seemed too ill or too exhausted
 
 282 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 to comprehend ; yet Jensen thought there was a more 
 intelligent look in his face. His eyes rested for a 
 moment on Jensen s features and upon the wound 
 made by Blue Mackinaw s gun. The ill man mut 
 tered something, and Jensen leaned down to hear it. 
 
 The single clear word he caught sounded like 
 " Springvale," although Jensen could not be certain. 
 This gave Jensen the idea that the man might be 
 connected with the counterfeiting scheme ; yet it was 
 strange that neither Kerry Mallabee nor her father 
 had recognized him, if this were the case. Still, 
 starvation, a two weeks beard, and frost-bitten fea 
 tures will alter a man s appearance greatly. 
 
 The patient, after listening awhile to the crackling 
 explosions in the wireless room, finally dropped off 
 into uneasy slumber. Jensen leaned back in his 
 chair to await Kerry Mallabee s return. 
 
 How long he had sat there with closed eyes he did 
 not know, but he suddenly came to himself with a 
 jump, as he felt some one grasp his arms and heard 
 a metallic click as a pair of steel handcuffs were 
 snapped upon his wrists. 
 
 Jensen opened his eyes to find the sick man had 
 arisen shakily to his feet and was standing over him, 
 as he mumbled thickly, poking an automatic against 
 Jensen s stomach:
 
 THE FROZEN MAN 283 
 
 " Shut up, damn you ; not a yip or I ll shoot. 
 Get up on your feet and gimme a shoulder. I m as 
 weak as a a rat. Get me that brandy bottle." 
 
 For a moment Jensen was so dazed he could 
 neither catch what the man was attempting to say 
 nor comprehend his gestures. Then, as the fellow 
 continued to point a wobbling hand toward the 
 brandy bottle standing on a near by table, Jensen 
 reached out his manacled hands and secured it for 
 him. 
 
 The man tipped up the bottle and let the raw 
 liquid run down his throat. This appeared to give 
 him strength, and he spoke more clearly. 
 
 " Now give me a shoulder and help me to where 
 that wireless instrument is located that has been 
 banging away ever since I was brought in here." 
 
 Despite the fact that the man still continued to 
 hold the automatic to his stomach, Jensen hesitated. 
 The fellow was so shaky on his frozen feet that the 
 chances of knocking the gun out of his hand before 
 he could gather his weakened muscles to press the 
 trigger with his bandaged hand looked more than 
 even. 
 
 " Come, no monkey business ; keep quiet and do 
 as I say," ordered the man, as he noted Jensen s 
 hesitation.
 
 284 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Jensen saw the fellow s muscles tighten and real 
 ized that it might be wise to do as he asked. Any 
 way, it was, apparently, a perfectly harmless re 
 quest. He stood up, allowed the ill man to lean heav 
 ily on him, and they moved toward the wireless room. 
 
 "Ugly! Ugly! Ugly! That s me, that s me," 
 the fellow kept repeating in a thick voice, and Jen 
 sen thought he was becoming delirious again. Yet, 
 as soon as he found himself in front of the wireless 
 instruments, he acted rational enough. He fell into 
 a chair, snapped the receiver over his head with one 
 hand, transferred the automatic to his left hand, still 
 keeping Jensen covered, and attempted to work the 
 sending key. To Jensen it had all passed so rapidly 
 and was so strange it was like a distorted dream. 
 
 With his partially bandaged right hand the man 
 found it difficult to manipulate the Morse key. He 
 produced a few brilliant blue sparks, but they were 
 unsatisfactory; his frozen fingers were not suffi 
 ciently under brain control. He still kept repeating 
 "Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!" 
 
 When the key failed to move as he wished, the 
 man acted dazed and brushed one hand across his 
 eyes, forgetting to keep Jensen covered with the re 
 volver. Jensen was quick to see his chance. He 
 had lifted his hands to bring the heavy steel manacles
 
 THE FROZEN MAN 285 
 
 down on the sick man s head, when he caught him 
 self and hesitated. 
 
 "To what end," he thought. "Why should I 
 knock the fellow senseless? The thing is becoming 
 far too interesting; I will wait and see what hap 
 pens." He permitted his hands to drop just as the 
 man turned. He sensed what Jensen had been 
 about to do, flung up both arms to guard his head, 
 and then let them fall as he saw there was no danger. 
 
 " See here," said he. " If I remove those wristers, 
 will you behave and help me send a message on this 
 wireless key ? " 
 
 " Certainly," answered Jensen. " I ll be glad to. 
 I can t imagine what you put them on for, anyway. 
 I had no idea of harming you, and I m not a crim 
 inal." 
 
 " Never you mind about that," said the big fellow, 
 wagging his head wisely. " I know what I m doing ; 
 betyer life on that, bo ." 
 
 What with the huge drink of raw brandy he had 
 recently poured into his empty stomach and his ill 
 ness and exhaustion, the man appeared to Jensen to 
 be not far from drunk, 
 
 Jensen held forward his wrists to have the hand 
 cuffs removed. " Now what do you want me to do ? " 
 he asked, as the manacles fell to the floor.
 
 286 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " Sit in this chair and put your fingers on that 
 key, so," directed the big man. " I ll put my fist 
 on your shoulder, and every time I press down on 
 your shoulder, you work that key. Try it now." 
 
 He stood up, and Jensen took the chair, placing 
 his fingers on the Morse key. In his schoolboy days, 
 Jensen had been able to manipulate a Morse tele 
 graph instrument, and he automatically fell into the 
 proper position, with easy flexed wrist. But all idea 
 of the alphabet had left his memory. 
 
 " They been calling Ugly ever since I came in 
 here," said the man. " That s my code name. I 
 want to answer them and get Kin. See ? ISTow 
 spell it out." He rested his bandaged hand on Jen 
 sen s shoulder and began to alternately press down 
 and relax. After a moment the blue spark jumped 
 properly in answer to his pressings, and the fellow 
 nodded his head with satisfaction as he said : 
 
 " That s the stuff. I see you ve worked a key be 
 fore. Now keep her singing. ( Kin, Kin, Kin, I 
 don t get anything yet." 
 
 " I am Ugly," he said slowly under his breath, as 
 he pressed out the letters on Jensen s shoulder. " I 
 want Kin, Kin, Kin; won t take anybody else. Get 
 me Kin and let me know sure it s him. Kin, Kin, 
 Kin."
 
 THE FROZEN MAN 287 
 
 To Jensen sitting there, sending the message as the 
 big man dictated, it was the most puzzling feature he 
 had yet encountered since his arrival at Camp 
 Argyle ; it made him forget his own troubles for the 
 moment, and he became as acutely interested in get 
 ting " Kin " as was the sick man standing above him. 
 
 Off three feet to the left there came a spark of 
 dazzling blue flame every time he pressed the Morse 
 key, and the air was filled with an almost constant 
 snapping discharge of currents that played about his 
 head like so many flaming gnats. 
 
 Finally the man broke into a chuckle of satisfac 
 tion, as he muttered : 
 
 " Ah ! that s more like it ; they get me. No" he 
 continued, repeating under his breath the message he 
 was painfully pounding into Jensen s shoulder, " no, 
 you won t do. I want Kin, and for God s sake 
 hurry." 
 
 He paused a moment, then he continued to repeat 
 under his breath the message that was coming to his 
 ear. 
 
 " You ll have him in ten minutes. All right, but 
 hurry, hurry. Tell him I m sending under extreme 
 difficulties, can t hold out much longer." 
 
 The man removed his bandaged fist from Jensen s 
 shoulder and sank down into a chair, as he begged:
 
 288 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " For God s sake, get me that brandy bottle, or I 
 won t be able to hang on." 
 
 Jensen was so thoroughly absorbed in this strange 
 drama being played in the Camp Argyle wireless 
 room that it never occurred to him to do other than 
 as the man requested. He was also extremely curi 
 ous regarding the message this person was so anxious 
 to send out. He darted to the living-room and se 
 cured the bottle. 
 
 The fellow took another huge swallow, shivered in 
 his whole great frame, and then sank his head upon 
 the wireless table, as he muttered : 
 
 " That ll pull me through, if they hurry." 
 
 For many silent, tense moments they waited. The 
 man breathed laboriously and gripped the table with 
 his bandaged hands, as he strained his senses to catch 
 the first word of answer to his far-flung call for 
 " Kin." 
 
 Once he glanced up at Jensen and said : " Keep 
 your finger on that key ready to send the moment we 
 get him. My head is spinning like a top, and we 
 haven t any time to waste." 
 
 Jensen s nerves were strained almost as near to the 
 breaking point as were the sick man s. He sat before 
 the wireless key with his eyes fastened on the huge 
 bulk bent over the table beside him. Once he
 
 THE FROZEN MAN 289 
 
 thought he heard footsteps in the living-room, won 
 dered if it were Kerry Mallabee returning, wondered 
 what she would do were she suddenly confronted with 
 the striking tableau in the wireless room. 
 
 Finally, after what seemed an age of waiting, the 
 sick man suddenly raised his head like a hunting 
 dog that scents the game. New energy seemed to 
 come to his body as he stood up and again placed his 
 bandaged hand on Jensen s shoulder. 
 
 "I ve got him!" he cried. "Send this." He 
 began to rapidly push down and release the pressure 
 on Jensen s shoulder, as he hoarsely whispered the 
 message he desired to send.
 
 THE MESSAGE 
 
 THE sick man s words fairly fell over one 
 another in his eagerness to say what he wished 
 to " Kin," whom he had caught at last on the wire 
 less receiver clamped to his ear. 
 
 " Don t know where I am, except that it s four 
 days north of Little Babos camp," he said, painfully 
 spelling out the words with jabs on Jensen s shoulder, 
 while the snapping blue sparks repeated the mes 
 sage. " Left Little Babos with good outfit and In 
 dian guides. Indians became frightened at some 
 thing; all but one deserted us on first night out, 
 stole everything, didn t leave us even a match or a 
 biscuit. We kept on trail and struck camp with 
 wireless station. Looks as if it might be what we 
 were searching for. My feet frozen bad. I m 
 about all in. Crewly is dead. A woman here, but 
 haven t found Jensen." 
 
 Jensen suddenly jerked his fingers from the Morse 
 key and stared up into the man s face as he cried : 
 
 " Great Caesar ! I m Jensen ! Who are you ? "
 
 THE MESSAGE 291 
 
 " What ! " stammered the big fellow in wide-eyed 
 amazement, as he fell back weakly into his chair, 
 yanking the wireless helmet from his head. " Why, 
 I m Varick, Secret Service," he continued, forgetting 
 entirely the business of sending his message. " The 
 chief sent me up here to find you. What s happened 
 to your face ? " he pointed to the dressings Kerry 
 Mallabee had adjusted over the wound made on Jen 
 sen s face by Blue Mackinaw s bullet. " It was 
 those bandages changed you so I didn t know you. 
 Only saw your photograph, anyway. Say, where is 
 this ? Who is that girl ? " 
 
 Varick was so wildly excited at the sudden dis 
 covery that it was Alan Jensen he had pressed into 
 service as a wireless operator that he might have 
 continued to fire his questions without waiting for 
 answers had he not seen an odd look flow across Jen 
 sen s face and noted that the man was strangely 
 mute. 
 
 It had come ! All in a moment ! At Varick s in 
 quiry regarding Kerry Mallabee, Jensen knew he 
 must decide definitely upon the instant regarding 
 his future conduct. He felt like a hunted animal 
 driven into a corner; his instincts were to fight for 
 her, to fall upon this man who had come to Camp 
 Argyle, and choke him beyond the power of sending
 
 292 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 another word of information to Chief Hilkie. Then, 
 blindingly, there flashed before his eyes a picture of 
 two men without food or adequate clothing hanging 
 doggedly to a faint trail in the snow and following it 
 persistently for days, at the price of what physical 
 agony God only knew, because duty led them on. 
 They might have returned to safety ; but they pressed 
 on into the unknown. 
 
 Duty, duty ! the word rang through his brain like 
 a clarion call to arms, and Jensen now thought he 
 knew where alone the path of honor lay. Greater 
 than love, greater than all things on earth, was loy 
 alty to the land of his nativity, to the United States 
 Secret Service. Duty must be fulfilled at any cost 
 and then beyond that he could not see. 
 
 In a moment he was pouring the details of his dis 
 covery at Argyle House into Varick s eager ear, while 
 Varick punctuated the sentences with exclamations 
 of amazement. 
 
 " But what in Sheol is he making it for ? " stam 
 mered Varick, as Jensen finished. " I know all about 
 Lord Cannonquest ; he s worth millions. Why, great 
 heavens, man, he s the biggest chap in all Canada; 
 he s the real cheese there. If he asked the whole 
 Dominion to jump through a hoop to-morrow, they d 
 do it. And what can a man such as he want to
 
 THE MESSAGE 293 
 
 meddle with the making of counterfeit money for? 
 I d as soon suspect our own Teddy of picking pockets. 
 I don t believe this chap is Lord Cannonquest at all." 
 
 " It can be no more of a puzzle to you than it is 
 to me; I haven t been able to figure it out," an 
 swered Jensen. " I have sometimes thought he 
 could not possibly be Lord Cannonquest, myself." 
 
 Suddenly Varick stood up and snapped the re 
 ceiver back to his ear. 
 
 " Gee! " he said. " I forgot the chief. I ll bet 
 he s mad. We must tell him about this and get his 
 orders. It s up to him now." 
 
 He placed his bandaged hand again on Jensen s 
 shoulder and began to laboriously repeat the call for 
 " Kin." The news of Jensen s discovery seemed to 
 have imparted new strength to Varick. 
 
 " They don t answer," he muttered. " Must have 
 thought I was unable to hold out and left the instru 
 ment. Oh ! there they are ! " 
 
 " It s Yarick, Chief," he repeated. " Jensen is 
 here. Has found the counterfeiting plant and the 
 ithite mine. Miners mutinied and just blew up the 
 dam, flooded the mine, put the counterfeiting plant 
 under fifty feet of water. Man representing him 
 self to be Lord Cannonquest, former premier of 
 Canada, was at the head of everything."
 
 294 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 There was a long pause, while a message came in 
 from Chief Hilkie. 
 
 " Can t help it," Varick finally resumed. " Looks 
 like he is the man; no one else here equal to it. 
 Plant was perfect, cost close to a million. Lord Can- 
 nonquest isn t aware that we know about the counter 
 feiting plant. Has offered Jensen an outfit to re 
 turn to Quebec. Eepeat the details carefully? 
 O. K" 
 
 At the price of infinite pain in his frost-bitten 
 hand, Varick sent all the details of Jensen s discov 
 ery and finished off with the inquiry : " What s the 
 next orders, Chief ? " 
 
 There was another long pause while Varick list 
 ened to his chief s message, nodding his head and 
 whispering : " Yes, yes, I get you," at frequent in 
 tervals. 
 
 Finally Jensen saw a look of deep disgust on Var- 
 ick s features, as he yanked the receiving helmet off 
 his head, slammed it down upon the table, and 
 grunted explosively: 
 
 " Hell ! wouldn t that hobble your broncho ? Here 
 I froze my feet getting here, and what do you think 
 the chief says ? " 
 
 " What does he say ? " asked Jensen a bit wearily. 
 His mind had suddenly reverted to Kerry Malla-
 
 THE MESSAGE 295 
 
 bee ; he was wondering what her attitude toward him 
 would be did she know he had this moment denounced 
 her father as a maker of counterfeit coin. 
 
 In the ardor of following the course of duty to the 
 Service as he saw it, Jensen s love for Stephen Malla- 
 bee s daughter had been forced to take a second place. 
 Now, with the reaction, regard for her was asserting 
 itself most persistently in his mind. 
 
 " Chiefs orders are to take the outfit and return to 
 Quebec as soon as I can be moved," answered Varick. 
 " He and Secretary of State Francis will meet us 
 there ; they are at a place called Craggmorie in Ver 
 mont, near the Canadian line, now. I asked the 
 chief if we should bring along this man Mallabee, and 
 he said that was a matter for the State Department 
 to handle exclusively after we get to Quebec. That 
 means we are out of Case BM432 from now on." 
 Varick s face expressed all the disgust he felt at thus 
 being defeated in his desire to make a grandstand 
 play by bringing Stephen Mallabee into the States. 
 
 Jensen sat silent, brooding. He still did not see 
 how he could accept Stephen Mallabee s outfit for re 
 turning to Quebec. 
 
 " Why don t you say something ? " barked Varick, 
 looking at Jensen with puzzled eyes. " You act as if 
 you were glad to be out of it."
 
 296 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " I am not exactly sorry," answered Jensen 
 frankly. " ~Now that the plant is totally destroyed, 
 I can t see what use there is in going on, we have no 
 proof." 
 
 " You are the proof," answered Varick. " And 
 you are going back with me to swear to what you saw 
 here. That s enough to put it all over the old man, 
 even if he does turn out to be the real Lord Cannon- 
 quest." 
 
 Jensen s face still lacked the enthusiasm Varick 
 expected to find there. A sudden light broke upon 
 his mind. He grinned slyly, as he poked a bandaged 
 fist into Jensen s ribs. 
 
 " I see, the girl, eh ? Mallabee s daughter. 
 George! Man, I can t blame you; she certainly is 
 one thumping beauty. If I wasn t an old married 
 man, I d be smitten myself; the tender way she fed 
 me that egg-nog was enough to soften the heart of a 
 grizzly. But, all levity aside, take it from me, a 
 Secret Service man has no business falling in love, 
 and especially not with a counterfeiter s daughter. 
 Forget it, son ; the chances are she is playing you for 
 a sucker, anyway; knows the old man is in bad and 
 wants to steer you off. As for the proof, it s still 
 there, even if it is under water. By the way, what 
 has become of those people; we must not lose sight
 
 THE MESSAGE 297 
 
 of them. I heard her tell you she was going to break 
 fast when you returned, and when I woke up, I found 
 you here. She s been gone a long time, if she only 
 left to eat." 
 
 " Her father went up above the falls to inspect the 
 destroyed dam," said Jensen, " and she followed on 
 after him when I returned from breakfast. They 
 should be back here soon." 
 
 " Now I ll tell you what we have got to do," said 
 the older Secret Service man, who had been ponder 
 ing the case while Jensen spoke. " First drag that 
 couch over close to the door to this wireless room; 
 then help me back to it. Nobody gets to this wireless 
 except over my dead body. I ll make sure that our 
 connections with headquarters are not cut until we 
 leave here. I d smash the instrument, but we may 
 need to use it again ourselves. You can tell these 
 folks that you moved the couch so that I might have 
 better air. 
 
 " I ll act sick a while longer," continued Varick, 
 as Jensen moved the couch, " and, believe me, I ll 
 not need to act much either. I feel as if a decent 
 punch from a healthy baby would put me entirely out 
 of business. Meanwhile, you manoeuvre with Malla- 
 bee to get that outfit, and we ll hurry to Quebec. 
 Crewly and I were out on a hunting expedition, and
 
 298 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 the guides deserted us, see ? That s what I will ex 
 plain to Mallabee, and we must not let him know we 
 understand each other." 
 
 With Jensen s assistance, Varick managed to hobble 
 back to the couch. 
 
 " Gee, but it feels good to rest these feet of mine," 
 he said. " Now you look up the Mallabees ; they are 
 remaining away a long time. Better cut out the flir 
 tations, too, son. A Secret Service man has no busi 
 ness to mix mush with business. She s not in our 
 class, son, not in our class at all. We re the hounds, 
 and she s the dainty little lady fox it s our business to 
 run down, and, believe me, she s as guilty as the old 
 man ; they always are, for all their pretty faces. Get 
 me, son ? " Bluff-spoken Jim Varick, veteran of the 
 Secret Service, lay back and closed his eyes. 
 
 " She may have been making a fool of me as Varick 
 intimates," thought Jensen, as he left the under 
 ground home and walked moodily toward the falls. 
 " But for all that, I ll have no more to do with hand 
 ing them over ; I ve done my duty, and it ends here ; 
 that s settled." 
 
 Jensen walked as far as the falls without seeing 
 anything of Kerry Mallabee or her father. Travel 
 ing along the bank of Black Devil Eiver, he kept on 
 up to where Stephen Mallabee had built his dam.
 
 THE MESSAGE 299 
 
 Aside from a few jagged blocks of cement that jutted 
 up above the water, there was left no sign of the 
 splendid structure, a triumph of engineering skill and 
 daring, that had been there but a few hours before. 
 The river, filled with mush ice, had lowered, as the 
 lake above the dam emptied itself, and now it was 
 not more than a hundred feet wide. 
 
 The Mallabees were nowhere in sight, and Jensen 
 decided they must have returned to the wireless house 
 while he and Varick were sending the message to 
 Chief Hilkie. Kerry Mallabee was probably at 
 breakfast. She would think it strange that he had 
 deserted the sick man, yet he felt no desire to return 
 there. He did not mean to return. 
 
 As Jensen looked upon the wreck of Stephen Malla- 
 bee s great undertaking, it seemed to typify his own 
 life. Upon entering the Secret Service profession, 
 he had never counted on being obliged to run down 
 beautiful young women ; least of all did he expect to 
 be confronted with the necessity of denouncing a man 
 like Stephen Mallabee. 
 
 Varick could return, he thought; the Mallabees 
 would look out for that; but he was not going. 
 Varick might have all the glory of Case BM432 
 if there were any glory in it. 
 
 In his moody abstraction, Jensen did not hear a
 
 300 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 step approaching until the person coming was almost 
 at his side. Then he turned. It was Kerry Malla- 
 bee. 
 
 One glance into Jensen s face, and she seemed to 
 understand the wild whirl of feeling that was tear 
 ing at his heart. 
 
 She held out her hands, palms down, but he did not 
 take them. His eyes fell before hers. 
 
 " You bad, delinquent nurse," she said playfully. 
 " You deserted your patient." 
 
 " Yes," answered Jensen dully. " He awoke and 
 appeared so far recovered that I came up here to ascer 
 tain what detained you and your father. I was not 
 sure but that you might have run into some of the 
 Swedish miners." 
 
 " You aot oddly, Boy," said Kerry Mallabee, as she 
 noted Jensen s air of indifference. " Tell me what is 
 the trouble. Did father talk of his great plans while 
 you were breakfasting together ? " 
 
 " No," answered Jensen. " But he did tell me, 
 before breakfast, that he intended to leave Camp 
 Argyle and go on board his yacht, and he offered 
 to furnish an outfit of dogs and komatics, with Peter 
 Saint as a guide, for me to return to Quebec. This 
 sick man must be sent back with Peter Saint." 
 
 " Yes," she said, an odd look filling her eyes, as
 
 THE MESSAGE 301 
 
 she searched his face. " And you, Boy, you are go 
 ing too ? " 
 
 He looked toward her. His glance fell before 
 hers, he was about to stammer some hastily concocted 
 evasion of her question. Then, suddenly, he knew 
 he could not lie to her. Her eyes seemed to fairly 
 drag the bitter truth from his unwilling lips. 
 
 " I can t ! " he cried helplessly. 
 
 " Why not, Boy ? " she asked calmly. 
 
 " Because it would be acting the part of a cad," 
 he answered, with hanging head. 
 
 " But why, Boy ? " she persisted. 
 
 " I am a Secret Service employee," he blurted out 
 desperately, and raised his eyes to hers, expecting to 
 see them fill with horror and hate. 
 
 " Well," she answered slowly, without the slightest 
 tonal change in her voice. " And what of that ? " 
 
 " Could it be possible, after all, that she did not 
 fully know of her father s schemes ? " he thought. It 
 seemed so, and he must tell her; there was no other 
 thing to do. Again his glance fell before hers, as he 
 spoke in halting sentences, the uttering of which was 
 the keenest hurt of all his life. 
 
 " I was sent up here to run down a huge counter 
 feiting scheme," he said. " I know now that it was 
 at Camp Argyle the money was made."
 
 302 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 In hurried, stumbling sentences he told her of all 
 he had seen in the basement coining-room at Argyle 
 House and of the message he had already dispatched 
 to Chief Hilkie. Her eyes never once left his face ; 
 to save his soul, he could not have held any part of 
 the story from her, once he had begun. 
 
 " The plant has been wrecked," he finished, " but I 
 can swear to its existence, and for me to return means 
 black disgrace for you, for your father. I simply 
 cannot do it. Any other course is equally impossible. 
 I may be a coward, but I can t do it." 
 
 Kerry Mallabee came closer and rested her hand 
 on his shoulder. Her sad eyes held his as she said : 
 
 " Boy, Boy, I know all about it. I knew from the 
 first, almost." She smiled a little as she added: 
 " You haven t a good face for keeping secrets. When 
 I told you in the Little Babos camp that I had sus 
 pected you of being a Secret Service man, your ex 
 pressive look assured me that my suspicion was cor 
 rect. Your face, Boy, has always told me the truth, 
 no matter what your lips said, always." 
 
 " You knew ! you knew ! " he stammered, with 
 hanging jaw, almost paralyzed with amazement. 
 " And you deliberately brought me here to Camp 
 Argyle after you knew ? " There was blind, unrea 
 soning anger in his question.
 
 THE MESSAGE 303 
 
 " It was because I did know that I brought you 
 here," she answered patiently. 
 
 " Now don t be angry, Boy," she continued, touch 
 ing his cheek softly with her warm pink fingers. 
 
 The gesture brought a hurrying memory that hurt 
 more than if she had stabbed him with a knife. For 
 a fleeting instant there was only hate and rage in Jen 
 sen s heart, as he felt the caress with which she had 
 beguiled the giant Swede at the Little Babos camp. 
 
 " You deliberately made a fool of me ! " he blurted 
 out, trying to remove her hand from his shoulder. 
 " Just as you did of Big Dan and Tom Springvale." 
 
 The wind blew wandering strands of her hair into 
 his face and eyes. He felt the contact and caught 
 the subtle perfume of her presence. It was as if he 
 were being suffocated. 
 
 " At this moment you are being a fool, Boy," she 
 said. " No," she denied, contritely, " you are just 
 being a boy ; a man would wait and listen before he 
 would dare accuse." 
 
 " Forgive me," he begged, brushing a hand across 
 his forehead. " It is because I can t understand." 
 
 " Listen then," she said. " It was my father who 
 made the counterfeit money or rather, helped to 
 make it, for only the base metal centers were made 
 here. Had not Black Devil s Bed and his ithite
 
 304 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 mine been flooded to-day, or the United States gov 
 ernment prevented him, he might have continued to 
 manufacture the spurious money until there was not 
 a single good gold coin in your country." 
 
 The enormity of this statement fairly staggered 
 Jensen, spoken, as it was, in her calm, even tones. 
 
 " But your father a criminal ! " he exclaimed. 
 " It is unbelievable." 
 
 " My father is not a criminal," she answered 
 proudly. " His later life has been dominated by an 
 idea ; it was that the United States and the Dominion 
 should become one undivided nation, and that all 
 America should be one united colony of England. 
 Yet father is as bitterly opposed to war as he is pos 
 sessed, call it obsessed, if you prefer, with this idea of 
 an undivided America, 
 
 " Ten years ago father discovered this mine here 
 and began experimenting, secretly, with radium. 
 During these experiments he isolated vast quanti 
 ties of ithite, found that it had the same specific grav 
 ity as gold and could be made to give the true ring 
 of gold, even when combined with that metal. 
 
 " About this time your famous American gold king, 
 J. J. Kerrison, whom father has known since his boy 
 hood days, came to visit us while we were at Quebec. 
 He was a morose old man, very bitter against his own
 
 THE MESSAGE 305 
 
 country. Father told Kerrison of his dream of a 
 united America. Mr. Kerrison offered to donate his 
 entire fortune to that end, and I believe he is almost 
 a billionaire. He even proposed that Canada make 
 war upon your country and invade it. 
 
 " Father would not even consider war ; but he con 
 tinued to study the matter during the time Mr. Kerri 
 son was visiting us. Finally, together, they evolved a 
 plan which father called The Bloodless War. It 
 was very simple. 
 
 " Mr. Kerrison, with his brother, controlled a large 
 share of the gold mines in the United States. His 
 product was delivered at the United States mints in 
 the shape of bullion; for this bullion he might re 
 ceive either coin, paper money, or bank drafts. He 
 usually elected to receive coin. 
 
 " Their plan was to manufacture counterfeit from 
 the comparatively cheap ithite and gradually substi 
 tute it for the perfect money, until practically all the 
 gold coin in the United States should be spurious." 
 
 " But how was it possible to thus substitute bad 
 money for good ? " asked Jensen in wonderment. 
 
 " It was easy enough to do this during the trans 
 fer of Kerrison s good gold from the mints to the 
 various banks where he deposited," answered Kerry 
 Mallabee. " Somewhere, while the money Kerrison
 
 306 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 received from the mint was in transit, spurious coin 
 with ithite centers was cleverly substituted for the 
 minted money, and this they delivered to the banks. 
 The banks they selected were always large deposi 
 tories of government funds, as well as institutions over 
 which Kerrison wielded control. He was thus able 
 to influence the officials without their being aware of 
 what he was actually accomplishing, so that the ithite 
 money eventually became a part of the United States 
 gold reserve. This has been going on for years." 
 
 " Then this false coin is merely a substitute for the 
 real money," put in Jensen, " not counterfeit manu 
 factured for the purpose of gain ? " 
 
 " Precisely," she answered. " So far, Mr. Kerri 
 son has kept every dollar of the good gold money 
 stored in an old abandoned prospect on his Cragg- 
 morie estate." 
 
 " But what possible end could such a substitution 
 of spurious coin attain ? " asked Jensen. 
 
 " To the end that, eventually, almost the entire 
 store of gold possessed by the United States should 
 consist of counterfeit coin. Then, through some pre 
 text, father, with his Canadian influence, and Kerri 
 son, with his newspapers, would foment a quarrel be 
 tween the Dominion and the United States that should 
 finally result in strong prospect of war.
 
 THE MESSAGE 307 
 
 " Upon this, Mr. Kerrison, through his newspapers, 
 would disclose the fact that a large part of the United 
 States gold coin was nothing but worthless counter 
 feit. This statement, they expected, would totally 
 ruin the credit of the United States and make it im 
 possible for her to finance a war. Upon this Canada 
 would magnanimously forget her quarrel and offer to 
 stand back of the United States credit to any amount, 
 if your country would consent to a United America 
 with home rule, such as the Dominion now has. 
 
 " This was father s idea of a Bloodless War that he 
 felt certain would result in complete victory for 
 Canada, without the necessity of firing a single gun. 
 He believes that all English-speaking peoples should 
 be under a single government, and that the present 
 English crown government is the ideal form. The 
 basic idea is not bad, you would see that if it were 
 your own country that proposed it ; but father failed 
 to take the Yankee temperament into consideration. 
 He could not realize their passion for absolute leader 
 ship, he could not see that they would be satisfied 
 with nothing short of first place."
 
 XXIII 
 
 VANISHING HOPES 
 
 AS he listened to Kerry Mallabee s story of her 
 father s colossal schemes, it fairly took Jen 
 sen s breath away. For a moment he could not 
 speak. Then he blurted out patriotically: 
 
 " Even with our credit but a thing of shreds and 
 patches, the people of the United States would never 
 consent to annexation to England. They would fight 
 against it with their last ounce of strength." 
 
 " So I have always assured father," answered 
 Kerry Mallabee. " But he would not believe it. Mr. 
 Kerrison has persistently told him that your moneyed 
 class who exert the greater political influence would 
 welcome the idea of becoming a colony of England. 
 
 " I have tried repeatedly to discourage father in 
 this plan of his, but it was useless. He and J. J. 
 Kerrison started life together as poor men ; they have 
 risen high, and father s confidence in Kerrison is 
 great. 
 
 " Both Kerrison and father are incapable of seeing 
 the thing from the point of view of the real people of
 
 VANISHING HOPES 309 
 
 the States ; father, because he is so intensely British, 
 and Kerrison, because his disposition is so thoroughly 
 soured. Father, although he loves me dearly, has not 
 a high regard for feminine opinions, as you may have 
 gathered from our talk together. Of late I have had 
 to play the spy in order to know how matters were 
 going. Springvale would tell me little; he knew I 
 was not in sympathy with the plan, and he was ex 
 tremely loyal to father." 
 
 " And you considered me a more pliable person ? " 
 Jensen interrupted sarcastically. 
 
 " Now, Boy," she answered patiently, " do be sen 
 sible. From what I saw of you at the Little Babos 
 camp, I knew you were a man to whom deceit was dis 
 tasteful. Although a Secret Service operative, you 
 have sometimes played the part with poor grace." 
 
 " You are far from complimentary," he declared a 
 little sulkily. 
 
 " Perhaps," she returned. " Yet I think your con 
 duct stands to your credit. Such work must be done, 
 but it is not always the most manly thing to do." 
 Jensen found himself wondering if she were about to 
 counsel treason to the Service. 
 
 " One reason why I brought you here," she con 
 tinued, " was because I knew father would perceive 
 your rugged honesty as certainly as I did. I knew
 
 310 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 he would sound you on conditions in the States, and 
 that, if he liked you, your opinions would carry 
 weight with him, enough, I hoped, so that he would 
 look more deeply into exact conditions in your coun 
 try and be less guided by the biased and revengeful 
 views of old J. J. Kerrison." 
 
 " But you must have known I would be likely to 
 discover what was going on here," said Jensen, " and 
 that it would be my duty to inform the United States 
 government." 
 
 " I realized all that, too, and it was what I ex 
 pected you to do if father did not give up his plan." 
 She gripped his shoulder and spoke very earnestly. 
 " And now you must take father s proffered outfit, re 
 turn to Washington, and put them in possession of 
 the facts I have given you. 
 
 " Remember, my knight errant," she said, " your 
 promise to fulfil my most high commission without 
 questions. The code letter I found in Big Dan s tote 
 bag told me that their plans were approaching a crisis. 
 This that has happened here will precipitate it. The 
 destruction of Camp Argyle and the death of those 
 miners has done much to bring father to his senses; 
 his spirit is almost broken, and I think I can convince 
 him now ; but there is still J. J. Kerrison to be taken 
 into account. He is a bitter, revengeful old man,
 
 VANISHING HOPES 311 
 
 and he will stop at nothing to humiliate the United 
 States. Your duty lies in Washington; you owe us 
 nothing in loyalty here. 
 
 " You can return," she argued patiently, " and tell 
 them enough so that they will make Kerrison disgorge 
 the millions of good money he has stored away in his 
 abandoned prospect at Craggmorie. Kerrison s mo 
 tive was base revenge for what he considered lack of 
 appreciation. Father s motive in the affair came 
 solely from a perfectly laudable ambition to bind the 
 English-speaking countries into a single nation. Al 
 though his method of going about this may not have 
 been the most praiseworthy, he believed it would 
 eventually be of enormous benefit to your country. I 
 know that your government will consider his motives 
 and look upon the conduct of Canada s former 
 Premier with lenient eyes. They may urge that he 
 receive a reprimand through his own government, but 
 that is all. 
 
 " It will be entirely a matter for most careful diplo 
 matic adjustment," she continued, " and also ex 
 tremely careful suppression from publicity. What 
 they will do to old J. J. Kerrison I do not know, nor 
 do I care that eighty-year-old man once had the 
 audacity to propose marriage to me but you may 
 be certain that the connection of Lord Cannonquest
 
 312 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 with the plan will be buried forever in the most se 
 cret archives of government." 
 
 " Then your father is actually Lord Cannon- 
 quest ? " asked Jensen. 
 
 " Certainly," she answered. " Whom did you 
 suppose him to be ? " 
 
 " I did not know who he was, but I have sometimes 
 doubted if he could be a man so high in the world as 
 the Ironman of Canada. His hands " he con 
 tinued, when she interrupted him: 
 
 " Yes, I saw you taking note of them at dinner 
 last night. Father was so zealous regarding this 
 plan of his for a united English-speaking race that 
 he made the greater part of those ithite centers with 
 his own hands. Mr. Kerrison owns a vast game pre 
 serve called Craggmorie, situated partly in northern 
 Vermont, partly in Canada, and the coins were fin 
 ished there. When you told me at the Little Babos 
 camp that you were instructed by Tom Springvale to 
 return with the package to the bank/ I thought 
 you were playing a part. All the ithite centers went 
 to Craggmorie, crossed the frontier there, and, after 
 being finished, were carried thence to New York, 
 Chicago, or some one of the other big centers where 
 the Kerrisons banked. Had you been speaking 
 truthfully, according to what Tom Springvale would
 
 VANISHING HOPES 313 
 
 have instructed, you would have answered Cragg- 
 morie instead of * the bank when I questioned 
 you." 
 
 Jensen was overcome with humiliation. Was she 
 to leave him no single detail of Case BM432 on which 
 he might believe he had outgeneraled her ? 
 
 " I seem to have been unable to conceal anything 
 from you," he said. " If Springvale was adamant 
 in your hands, I have been putty." 
 
 " I like that ! " she returned. " Who was it dis 
 covered the trail up here, managed to unearth father s 
 secret coining plant, and has led me to tell him all I 
 know of father s plans? You are too modest, Boy. 
 Instead of a failure, you seem to have made a smash 
 ing success. Certainly you are returning with your 
 case complete." 
 
 Was he? He did not know. If he were to be 
 lieve all Kerry Mallabee had told him, he was, yet 
 the irritating idea of what Tom Springvale had called 
 her in his delirium, " a false-hearted siren," was yet 
 as difficult as ever to efface from his mind. The 
 doubt would persist ; still he knew he loved her. He 
 thought, for a moment, to put his doubt into words. 
 
 " Tom Springvale said " he had begun, when 
 he caught himself at the look of sorrow that suddenly 
 overspread her features.
 
 314 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 " Tell me, Boy," she interrupted earnestly, " did 
 Tom Springvale really die ? " 
 
 He gazed intently at her. Something in the ex 
 pression of her face made him think she had cared 
 for the man. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "that was all true. I was 
 with him when he died ; but he did not confide in me. 
 I knew him merely as a casual acquaintance at col 
 lege. It was pure accident, my finding Springvale 
 and that note at the charcoal burners camp in Ver 
 mont." Then, as he saw her eyes fill with sudden 
 tears, he added, before he had a chance to really 
 consider what he was saying : " You cared for 
 him?" 
 
 " I thought I did at one time," she answered 
 slowly. " And father was anxious that we marry ; 
 but it had never progressed quite as far as an actual 
 engagement. We were seldom able to agree, Tom 
 and I." 
 
 There was that in her words which stirred a faint 
 hope in Jensen s heart. He knew Springvale had 
 been a commoner, yet Stephen Mallabee had ap 
 proved of his suit. Still he could not bring himself 
 to tell her of his lova What had he to offer her, the 
 daughter of a lord ? It was this and the thought that 
 he was only an unimportant unit in a profession for
 
 VANISHING HOPES 315 
 
 which she had recently confessed she had no high re 
 gard that held him silent. 
 
 " Well, Boy, what is it to be ? " she asked. " Are 
 you still my knight errant ? " 
 
 He devoured her face with longing eyes. She 
 must have known something of what was in his heart ; 
 yet she continued to remain a straight, unyielding 
 figure, silhouetted against the cold, gray, northern 
 sky, silently awaiting his answer. 
 
 " I will go," he said slowly, his heart turning cold 
 as the sentence left his lips. He felt as if his words 
 had destroyed every bridge to hope and happiness. 
 
 Kerry Mallabee s idea of the leniency with which 
 his government would look upon her father s conduct 
 might be true, yet going back would still mean be 
 traying her father, a man whom Jensen had learned 
 to greatly admire. And it meant losing her, the 
 woman he loved, living on without her; he felt cer 
 tain of that, too, yet he could not deny her, he would 
 
 go- 
 
 " But returning over the trail will mean a long 
 delay," he continued. " Why not attempt to get 
 Chief Hilkie on the wireless again, tell him all this, 
 and enable him to proceed against J. J. Kerrison at 
 once ? Otherwise it may be too late when I arrive in 
 the States."
 
 316 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 The idea that Kerry Mallabee might object to this 
 plan was in Jensen s mind. If she had been deceiv 
 ing him, she would. This was a test. 
 
 Instead of objecting, she became instantly en 
 thusiastic. " An excellent idea," she cried, " why 
 didn t we think of it before? Where did you get 
 your chief on the wireless ? " 
 
 Jensen considered a moment, then he remembered. 
 " Why, it was at a place called Craggmorie, " he 
 answered. 
 
 " Craggmorie ! " exclaimed Kerry Mallabee. 
 " They are in tune with us, and we should have little 
 difficulty in catching him again. Either father or I 
 have been in connection with Craggmorie on the wire 
 less frequently. Father sent a message to Gold, 
 Vermont, there last night, immediately after your 
 arrival. We will try to call them." 
 
 Arriving at the Camp Argyle underground home, 
 Kerry Mallabee sent Jensen in to explain matters 
 to Varick, while she went to her father. 
 
 " I left father lying down in his chamber," said 
 Kerry Mallabee. " He was very despondent. I 
 think I had better tell him something of conditions 
 at once. It seems like rubbing a raw sore ; yet he is 
 in a better frame of mind to be reconciled now to 
 what must come than he will be later."
 
 VANISHING HOPES 317 
 
 It was a far from enthusiastic Varick who heard 
 what Jensen had to tell him of Case BM432. 
 
 " Sounds kinder punky to me," he declared, as 
 Jensen finished. " You been gettin an ear full from 
 that girl. I see that, all right. But, as for me, I m 
 naturally suspicious of all young women, and espe 
 cially of young women so all-fired seductive as she is. 
 She s got you hypnotized; but I tell you, son, she 
 hasn t hypnotized me yet. Conquer the United 
 States by ruining our currency and credit ! Sounds 
 very fishy, son. I think this is merely a foxy move 
 of hers to hurry us back to Quebec and get her old 
 man out of the way before the chief has a chance to 
 move against him." 
 
 Varick s further impressions were cut short by 
 the entrance of Kerry Mallabee and her father. 
 Mallabee was leaning heavily on his daughter s arm. 
 His great frame was bowed ; the lambent glow in his 
 fine gray eyes had been replaced with a look of in 
 effable sorrow. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, as he sank wearily into a 
 chair, " my daughter has just told me who you are 
 and what you know of my plan for welding the Eng 
 lish-speaking peoples into one homogeneous nation. 
 I fear it was but the dream of an old man and that a 
 bloodless war is an impossibility. More than fifty
 
 318 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 human lives have already been sacrificed. Four of 
 those men were as brave fellows as ever lived. I 
 would not have given Dick Evans alone for the com 
 plete realization of my dream. I thought it could all 
 be brought about peacefully; I deceived myself. I 
 am sorry. I shall do what I can to right the wrong." 
 
 Jensen s heart went out in sympathy to this won 
 derful man; he knew what a confession of failure 
 must have cost him. Still more did he admire him 
 for not shouldering the blame upon Kerrison. 
 
 " My daughter tells me you propose to call Chief 
 Hilkie, head of your Secret Police, on the wireless 
 and put him in possession of such information as will 
 enable him to cause John J. Kerrison to surrender the 
 gold coin we have obtained through " Mallabee 
 hesitated a moment, and his voice shook as he con 
 tinued " have obtained through fraud, for I sup 
 pose we may as well be blunt about this thing. That 
 course has my approval. My daughter is a skilled 
 wireless operator. If you will tell her the message 
 you wish to give your chief, she will be glad to send 
 it for you. I hope you will excuse me now. I find 
 the events of the morning have tired me greatly. I 
 will see that you are provided with an outfit to return 
 to Quebec whenever you wish to go." 
 
 It required less than fifteen minutes for Kerry
 
 VANISHING HOPES 319 
 
 Mallabee to get Chief Hilkie on the Craggmorie wire 
 less instrument. This slight delay was caused by the 
 chief himself, who, with Secretary of State Francis, 
 had been at Craggmorie engaged in wireless consulta 
 tion with Washington before they left for Quebec. 
 
 The chief, being in doubt whether to permit J. J. 
 Kerrison to pull out from the Carldale station in his 
 special car, had been attempting for some time to 
 cook up an excuse with Washington for holding him 
 there. Chief Hilkie s previous information about 
 Case BM432, received from Varick, had contained 
 no reference to Kerrison s being involved; still the 
 chief could not rid his mind of the hunch that the 
 old gold king was mixed up in it somewhere. Cer 
 tainly, he thought, those wireless messages to " Gold, 
 .Vermont," pointed in that direction. 
 
 It took Alan Jensen scarce another fifteen minutes 
 to put his chief in possession of the essential facts 
 regarding J. J. Kerrison, with which Stephen Malla- 
 bee s daughter had recently furnished him. Before 
 another hour had elapsed, those facts were confirmed, 
 and Chief Hilkie wirelessed back to Camp Argyle 
 that not only had the old fox been cornered, but that 
 the vast store of good gold coin Kerrison had con 
 cealed in an abandoned prospect on his Craggmorie 
 estate had been unearthed and was being guarded by
 
 320 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 Beck and Widden until the arrival of the treasury 
 officials, who would supervise its transportation to 
 the nearest sub-treasury. 
 
 Chief Hilkie was not ordinarily a demonstrative 
 man; a single word of commendation from him 
 meant more than a dozen words from many others, 
 yet, having got his details out of the way, the chief 
 took the time to send a purely personal message to 
 Alan Jensen. 
 
 " Good work, Jensen," was the cheering sentence 
 that came crashing down from the Camp Argyle 
 aerials. " You beat us all to it, the greatest case we 
 ever handled." 
 
 Varick, too, now that he was convinced Jensen had 
 not been led astray by Kerry Mallabee, was quick to 
 tender his congratulations. 
 
 " Son," he said, as he held forward one of his 
 bandaged hands, " if you are willing to shake the paw 
 of one of the biggest chuckleheads in the Secret Serv 
 ice, put it there. I certainly thought your story was 
 a pipe dream ; but it was the real goods." 
 
 Jensen stood cold before this shower of praise 
 from his associate and his chief. In his own mind 
 he could not believe he deserved it, and the fact that 
 Kerry Mallabee had failed to second their good 
 opinions of his conduct added to his despondency.
 
 VANISHING HOPES 321 
 
 True, she had been summoned to her father s side by 
 one of the Chinese house boys immediately after 
 having received the last word from Chief Hilkie ; yet, 
 thought Jensen, she might, at least, have expressed 
 her approval before leaving, since he had fulfilled her 
 own wishes in the matter.
 
 XXIV 
 
 THE days that followed while he awaited Var- 
 ick s recovery to a point where the return jour 
 ney to Quebec might be attempted were alike the most 
 lonely and the most depressing Alan Jensen had 
 passed through. 
 
 Stephen Mallabee was ill in his chamber and re 
 quired the constant attention of his daughter. Jen 
 sen saw her only as she occasionally passed through 
 the rooms, and their conversation was limited to in 
 quiries and replies regarding her father s condition 
 of health. 
 
 Mallabee s yacht, cruising in the neighborhood of 
 Ungava Bay, had been communicated with by wire 
 less, and a party from there was already on its way 
 down the river to Camp Argyle to take the Mallabees 
 and their menage on board. 
 
 Peter Saint looked after Varick, and under the 
 habitan s skilful ministrations the Secret Service 
 man s frost-bitten limbs were rapidly approaching a 
 condition where it would be safe for him to be moved
 
 THE LIGHT O LOVE 323 
 
 on the trail toward Quebec. Jensen spent the in 
 tervening time making short and lonely exploring 
 tours about the vicinity of Black Devil River. 
 
 There was no pleasant anticipation for him in the 
 return journey. He was leaving the woman he 
 loved, leaving her forever, without having had the 
 courage to declare his passion or to learn his chances. 
 The realization of her high station, the thought that 
 he was a mere nobody, kept him from telling her of 
 his love. 
 
 The boyish shyness and modesty, inborn in his na 
 ture, would not permit him to believe she might really 
 care for him, in spite of all this. Neither could he 
 realize that there might be something winning to her 
 fine womanly nature in this very shyness which, man 
 like, he so despised and constantly tried hard to fight 
 down. 
 
 Varick was as eager for the day of return to come 
 as Jensen was reluctant. At last the time arrived 
 when Varick could move about on his feet without 
 pain, and Peter Saint declared that further delays 
 would only decrease their chances of good weather for 
 the journey. 
 
 The dogs and komatics were made ready, four 
 teams of nine animals each, with ample provisions 
 and camping materials, so that their trip might be
 
 324 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 taken in comfort ; " luxurious ease " Varick termed 
 it as he inspected the sledge that had been fitted for 
 the exclusive transportation of his own huge person. 
 
 It so happened that the relief party from the yacht 
 arrived at Camp Argyle upon the eve of the day 
 that had been selected by Peter Saint for the start 
 toward Quebec. Stephen Mallabee had so far re 
 covered that he was now up and about, and he decided 
 to immediately abandon Camp Argyle. Thus, with 
 the two departures, the entire camp was nothing but 
 bustle and confusion. 
 
 The morning broke gray and cold. Breakfast had 
 been partaken of in the dining-room of the under 
 ground home and, for the first time during many 
 days, both Kerry Mallabee and her father sat at the 
 table with Jensen and Varick. Varick was in high 
 feather at the prospect of getting back to civilization 
 and carried the weight of the conversation during the 
 meal. 
 
 Jensen was moody and despondent. Kerry 
 Mallabee addressed him pleasantly several times, as 
 did her father; but their talk was confined to com 
 monplaces about the return journey, the best spots 
 for camping, and how to gain the greatest amount of 
 comfort over the hard trail in cold weather. 
 
 After assisting Peter Saint to make everything
 
 THE LIGHT O LOVE 325 
 
 taut on the komatics, Jensen returned to the under 
 ground home with a heavy heart to say farewell to 
 Kerry Mallabee and her father. 
 
 He found them together in the living-room. Mal 
 labee was seated before a glowing thermal radiator 
 that furnished the only light there. This morning 
 Mallabee looked more as he had when Jensen first saw 
 him in the dining apartment upon the evening of his 
 arrival at Argyle House. His daughter, who had 
 been handing him some medicinal draught as Jensen 
 entered, rested her tray upon a table, turned and 
 said: 
 
 " Boy, you are going ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered haltingly, fighting hard to 
 down the hunger that was in his heart. " And I 
 could not leave without informing you and your 
 father how greatly I appreciate your unvarying kind 
 ness to me since I came to Camp Argyle. I have not 
 deserved it. It was my fate that I should be forced 
 to play the part I have in your lives ; but I hope you 
 will believe me sincere when I assure you that at no 
 single moment since I really knew you was it my de 
 sire." 
 
 He bowed and backed toward the door. At his 
 first words, Mallabee had risen to his feet. Jensen 
 scarcely knew whether to expect an enraged denuncia-
 
 326 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 tion or a cold and formal farewell, but he was en 
 tirely unprepared for what did come. 
 
 " Mr. Jensen," said Mallabee, holding forward his 
 hand and speaking with something of the old snap and 
 fire in his voice. " You need offer no apologies. 
 My daughter, Kerry, has made everything clear to 
 me. There has been nothing in your conduct that 
 was not compatible with the course of true honor 
 and," he added vigorously, " and loyalty to the land 
 of your birth. I am very glad, sir, to shake your 
 hand. I shall hope, sometime in the near future, to 
 entertain you more hospitably at my home in Mon 
 treal. I want to see more of you, and, if the States 
 have other sons like you, I should like to know them, 
 too. What I have learned since you came among us 
 makes me feel that I have never really known our 
 neighbors to the south. I will leave it with my 
 daughter to arrange the precise date upon which you 
 can visit us at Montreal we shall be there for sev 
 eral months while I impart a few final instructions 
 to Peter Saint before he departs." 
 
 After a hearty hand-clasp Stephen Mallabee strode 
 from the room. His cordial farewell and hospitable 
 invitation to visit them in Montreal suddenly raised 
 Jensen s spirits from the depths of despair to the 
 heights of elation.
 
 THE LIGHT O LOVE 327 
 
 He turned to where Kerry Mallabee stood beside a 
 low table. Her face was shadowed from the light; 
 he could not know what was there as she said : 
 
 " Father s illness has prevented me from telling 
 you before how faithful my gallant knight has proved 
 to the trust I put in him. Father realizes now that 
 what I did was wholly for the best and he has for 
 given me. Can you, Boy, forgive me for having 
 made you a party in my efforts toward bringing him 
 to a realization of what his great plan really meant ? " 
 
 She came a step nearer, held out her hand and, 
 coming, stepped into the warm upward beat of the 
 light. 
 
 He saw her face with its halo of golden hair, her 
 sad eyes with their tender appeal that had never 
 failed to draw him since the first moment he had met 
 her. 
 
 He did not immediately take her proffered hand. 
 If she expected to leave him with this sort of a formal 
 farewell, she was mistaken, he thought. 
 
 As she raised her face in wonder at his failure to 
 grasp her hand, he gazed for one instant into her 
 eyes with all the heartache that was consuming his 
 soul. 
 
 Then, before she could speak, before she could 
 move, he had caught her in his arms and was crush-
 
 328 A SIREN OF THE SNOWS 
 
 ing her to his breast as he breathed into her listening 
 ears: 
 
 " Girl ! I am not going to leave Camp Argyle 
 without telling you that I love you. I love you, you, 
 
 you." 
 
 He searched her eyes again. Then his lips found 
 hers ; willingly she returned him kiss for kiss. 
 
 " You really care for me, Girl ? " he asked, after 
 the first moment of wild joy had spent itself. 
 
 " Of course I do," she answered. " Haven t I told 
 you so in a hundred different ways ? " 
 
 " I didn t know it," he answered, with a little smile 
 of puzzled surprise. 
 
 " Boy, boy always," she murmured happily. 
 " But I love you for it. Oh, I do love you for it" 
 
 THE END
 
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