It would be a hard race--a running fight perhaps--but he would win, and after a time Meleese would come to him, away down at the little hotel on the Saskatchewan.
He rose to his feet, his blood growing warm, his eyes shining in the candle-light.

The thought of the girl as she had come to him out in the night put back into him all of his old fighting strength, all of his unconquerable hope and confidence.

She had followed him when the dog yelped at his heels, as the first shots had been fired; she had knelt beside him in the snow as he lay bleeding at the feet of his enemies.

He had heard her voice calling to him, had felt the thrilling touch of her arms, the terror and love of her lips as she thought him dying.

She had given herself to him; and she would come to him--his lady of the snows--if he could escape.
He went to the door and shoved against it with his shoulder.