eg Storm"
Mukee was ready to follow. A trail through the spruce forest led them
to the lake across which Jan knew that Cummins had intended to go.
Beyond that, a matter of six miles or so, there was a deep and lonely
break between two mountainous ridges in which Cummins believed he might
find lynx. Indian instinct guided the two across the lake. There they
separated, Jan going as nearly as he could guess into the northwest,
Mukee trailing swiftly and hopelessly into the south, both inspired in
the face of death by the thought of a woman with sunny hair, and with
lips and eyes that had sent many a shaft of hope and gladness into
their desolate hearts.

It was no great sacrifice for Jan, this struggle with the "Beeg Snows"
for the woman's sake. What it was to Mukee, the half-Cree, no man ever
guessed or knew, for it was not until the late spring snows had gone
that they found what the foxes and the wolves had left of him, far to
the south.

A hand, soft and gentle, guided Jan. He felt the warmth of it and the
thrill of it, and neither the warmth nor the thrill grew less as the
hours passed and the snow fell deeper. His soul was burning with a joy
that it had never known. Beautiful visions danced in his brain, and
always he heard the woman's voice praying to him in the little cabin,
saw her eyes upon him through that white snow veil! Ah, what would he
not give if he could find the man, if he could take Cummins back to his
wife, and stand for one moment more with her hands clasping his, her
joy flooding him with a sweetness that would last for all time! He
plunged fearlessly into the white world beyond the lake, his wide
snowshoes sinking ankle-deep at every step. There was neither rock nor
tree to guide him, for everywhere was the heavy ghost-raiment of the
Indian God. The balsams were bending under it, the spruces were
breaking into hunchback forms, the whole world was twisted in noiseless
torture under its increasing weight, and out through the still terror
of it all Jan's voice went in wild echoing shouts. Now and then he
fired his rifle, and always he listened long and intently. The echoes
came back to him, laughing, taunting, and then each time fell the
mirthless silence of the storm. Night came, a little darker than the
day, and Jan stopped to build a fire and eat sparingly of his food, and
to sleep. It was still night when he aroused himself and stumbled on.
Never did he take the weight of his rifle from his r