"In which to--surrender?"

There was no need to reply.

For the first time Blake smiled. There was something in that smile that
made her flesh creep. "Twenty-four hours is a short time," he said, "and
in this matter, Mrs. Keith, I think that you will find Captain Rydal a
man of his word. No need to ask you why you don't appeal to the crew!
Useless! But you have hope that I can help you? Is that it?"

Her heart throbbed. "That is why I have come to you, Mr. Blake. You told
me today that Fort Confidence is only a hundred and fifty miles away and
that a Northwest Mounted Police garrison is there this winter--with a
doctor. Will you help me?"

"A hundred and fifty miles, in this country, at this time of the year, is
a long distance, Mrs. Keith," reflected Blake, looking into her eyes with
a steadiness that at any other time would have been embarrassing. "It
means the McFarlane, the Lacs Delesse, and the Arctic Barren. For a
hundred miles there isn't a stick of timber. If a storm came--no man or
dog could live. It is different from the coast. Here there is shelter
everywhere." He spoke slowly, and he was thinking swiftly. "It would take
five days at thirty miles a day. And the chances are that your husband
would not stand it. One hundred and twenty hours at fifty degrees below
zero, and no fire until the fourth day. He would die."

"It would be better--for if we stay--" she stopped, unclenching her hands
slowly.