He faced the Indian with his back to the stove, his voice taking on a
determined note. "We won't leave here until we are ready. We're tired, and
we're going to stay here--do you understand? Now tell your 'klootch' to
get us some supper. Quick!"

The breed's face blazed. Without closing the door, he moved directly upon
the interloper, his design recognizable in his threatening attitude; but
before he could put his plan into execution, a soft voice from the rear of
the room halted him.

"Constantine," it said.

The travellers whirled to see, standing out in relief against the darkness
of the passage whence the Indian had just come a few seconds before, the
golden-haired girl of the storm, to whom they had been indebted for their
rescue. She advanced, smiling pleasantly, enjoying their surprise.

"What is the trouble?"

"These men no stop here!" cried Constantine violently. "You speak! I make
them go."

"I--I--beg pardon," began Emerson. "We didn't intend to take forcible
possession, but we're played out--we've been denied shelter everywhere--we
felt desperate--"

"You tried the canneries above?" interrupted the girl.

"Yes."