The stove roared and the room got horribly cold, and for a moment or two a shaggy, white figure, indistinct in the semi-darkness, struggled to close the door.

Then there was a sudden calm and when the light got steady an Indian in ragged furs leaned against the table, breathing hard and holding out a note.
"From Father Lucien," said Scott, who took the folded paper.

"He's had a sick man on his hands for three or four days and wants one of us to relieve him.

I allow I'd sooner stop here.

It's pretty fierce to-night." "Who's sick ?" Thirlwell asked.
"Black Steve.