est lay gloomy, brooding; and within a few
hundred yards of them stood the mighty sentry trees which the squaw had
pointed out. But now between them, breaking up the dead white carpet
which covered the earth, the tall form of the Hooded Man stood
silhouetted. Grim and ghostly he looked, as, motionless, he gazed upon
the watchers.

With the instinct of self-defence which the wild teaches so insistently,
Nick unslung his rifle. Ere Ralph could stay him the shot rang out,
echoing away over the tree-tops. The figure had disappeared, and the
unblemished carpet of snow was as it had been before. Nick stood aghast,
for he was a dead shot. Ralph gazed helplessly at the spot where the man
had stood.

Suddenly Nick gasped.

"It--it ain't human."

And Ralph had no answer to make.

Then presently they turned to where the Moosefoot squaw had stood. She,
too, had gone; vanished as completely as had the Hooded Man. There was
the trail of her snow-shoes ruffling the snow, and the men ran following
it as far as the forest edge; but here they stood. They could follow no
further. Night was upon them. Slowly they returned to camp.

The next day they continued their journey with almost fanatical
persistence. They found no sentry-trees such as the squaw had described.
Forest, yes, but where in that region could they fail to find forest?
The abode of the White Squaw was nowhere to be found.

That night they decided upon their next move in the quiet, terse manner
of men who cannot bring themselves to speak of the strange feelings
which possess them; who are ashamed of their own weakness, and yet must
acknowledge it to themselves.

"An' to-morrow--" said Nick, glancing apprehensively around beyond the
fire, over which they were sitting, fighting the deadly cold of the
night.

"To-morrow?" echoed Ralph.

"Where?" asked Nick, looking away towards the south.

Ralph followed the direction of his brother's gaze.

"Um." And he nodded.

"What--south?"

"South."

"An' the Wh--"

Ralph shook his head, and smoked on solemnly.

CHAPTER V.

THE WHITE SQUAW

Down the sharp incline Nick ran beside his dogs; Ralph was close behind.
They were home once more in their own silent valley, and were pushing on
to avoid the coming snow-storm which the leaden hue of the sky
portended. So the dogs were rushed along at a great pace, for the dugout
was beyond, a full hour distant.

It had been a weary journey, that return from the que