which the white man
had left with them a year ago. He, the messenger, was on a visit to the
Shaunekuks at the time, for a caribou hunt. But he abandoned the hunt at
the white man's request, who said he, the doctor, would pay him well.

The man was paid under promise of guiding an outfit back to the Theton
River country, and then began a hustle of a cyclonic nature.

Corporal Munday set out for Reindeer forthwith, and made headquarters in
record time. Within half an hour of his arrival Superintendent McDowell
had issued his orders for a "rush outfit." And three hours later saw it
on the trail. There was no hesitation. There was no question. There was
a comrade in peril, and with him others. There was a woman--although
only a squaw--and a white child. No greater incentive was needed, and
young Jack Belton was selected to lead the "rush" for his known speed
and capacity on the trail.

Something of the feelings stirring found expression in McDowell's final
instructions to his subordinate at the moment of departure.

"I don't care a curse if you kill every darn horse between here and the
Landing," he said. "Commandeer all you need--and plenty. I don't care
what you do. You've got to bring Allenwood back alive, or--or break your
darn neck."

And Belton had needed no urging. He had cut down the month's journey to
the Theton River to something like twenty days. He had foundered six
teams of horses and worn his two men and his scouts well-nigh
threadbare with night and day travel. But the doctor had proved
invincible, as had the Yellow-Knife scout on his skewbald pony, which,
for all its meanness of shape and size, had stood up to it all.

They had already been pursuing the river course for four days, and, so
far, it had withheld its secret. Somewhere out there on those wide
shining waters a man was struggling in a great final effort to defeat
once more the ruthless forces of Nature against which he had battled so
long and so successfully.

And what would victory mean for him? Ross knew. Jack Belton knew. And
their knowledge of that which was awaiting him, should a final triumph
be his, added a deep depression to the silence which had fallen between
them.

The great sun went to its death in a blaze of splendour, and the long
Northern twilight softened the scene with misty, velvet shadows which
crept down from distant hills to the north and south. The woodland
bluffs, too, promptly lost their sharpness of outline, and th