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of a camp-fire well up
the draw. A fourth sat at a little distance from them riveting a stirrup
leather with two stones. The wagons had been left near the entrance of
the valley pocket some sixty or seventy yards from the fire. Probably
the drivers, after they had unhitched the teams, had been drawn deeper
into the draw to a spot more fully protected from the wind.
While darkness gathered, Sleeping Dawn lay in the bunch grass with
her eyes focused on the camp below. Her untaught soul struggled with
the problem that began to shape itself. These men were wolfers,
desperate men engaged in a nefarious business. They paid no duty to
the British Government. She had heard her father say so. Contrary to
law, they brought in their vile stuff and sold it both to breeds and
tribesmen. They had no regard whatever for the terrible injury they did
the natives. Their one intent was to get rich as soon as possible, so they
plied their business openly and defiantly. For the Great Lone Land was
still a wilderness where every man was a law to himself.
The blood of the girl beat fast with the racing pulse of excitement. A
resolution was forming in her mind. She realized the risks and
estimated chances coolly. These men would fire to kill on any skulker
near the camp. They would take no needless hazard of being surprised
by a band of stray Indians. But the night would befriend her. She
believed she could do what she had in mind and easily get away to the
shelter of the hill creases before they could kill or capture her.
A shadowy dog on the outskirt of the camp rose and barked. The girl
waited, motionless, tense, but the men paid little heed to the warning.
The man working at the stirrup leather got to his feet, indeed, carelessly,
rifle in hand, and stared into the gloom; but presently he turned on his
heel and sauntered back to his job of saddlery. Evidently the hound was
used to voicing false alarms whenever a coyote slipped past or a skunk
nosed inquisitively near.
Sleeping Dawn followed the crest of the ridge till it fell away to the
mouth of the coulée. She crept up behind the white-topped wagon

nearest the entrance.
An axe lay against the tongue. She picked it up, glancing at the same
time toward the camp-fire. So far she had quite escaped notice. The
hound lay blinking into the flames, its nose resting on crossed paws.
With her hunting-knife the girl ripped the canvas from the side of the
top. She stood poised, one foot on a spoke, the other on the axle. The
axe-head swung in a half-circle. There was a crash of wood, a swift jet
of spouting liquor. Again the axe swung gleaming above her head. A
third and a fourth time it crashed against the staves.
A man by the camp-fire leaped to his feet with a startled oath. "What's
that?" he demanded sharply.
From the shadows of the wagons a light figure darted. The man
snatched up a rifle and fired. A second time, aimlessly, he sent a bullet
into the darkness.
The silent night was suddenly alive with noises. Shots, shouts, the
barking of the dog, the slap of running feet, all came in a confused
medley to Sleeping Dawn.
She gained a moment's respite from pursuit when the traders stopped at
the wagons to get their bearings. The first of the white-topped
schooners was untouched. The one nearest the entrance to the coulée
held four whiskey-casks with staves crushed in and contents seeping
into the dry ground.
Against one of the wheels a rifle rested. The girl flying in a panic had
forgotten it till too late.
The vandalism of the attack amazed the men. They could have
understood readily enough some shots out of the shadows or a swoop
down upon the camp to stampede and run off the saddle horses. Even a
serious attempt to wipe out the party by a stray band of Blackfeet or
Crees was an undertaking that would need no explaining. But why
should any one do such a foolish, wasteful thing as this, one to so little

purpose in its destructiveness?
They lost no time in speculation, but plunged into the darkness in
pursuit.
CHAPTER II
THE AMAZON
The dog darted into the bunch grass and turned sharply to the right.
One of the men followed it, the others took different directions.
Up a gully the hound ran, nosed the ground in a circle of sniffs, and
dipped down into a dry watercourse. Tom Morse was at heel scarcely a
dozen strides behind.
The yelping of the dog told Morse they were close on their quarry.
Once