child.

The effort had been tremendous. Far more tremendous than these men knew.
And the story of the journey, the endurance, the hardship of it, would
have made an epic of man's silent heroism. With Steve each hardship,
each difficulty encountered had been a matter of course. Accident was a
thing simply to be avoided, and when avoidance was impossible then to be
accepted without complaint. And these things had been so many.

Now the wide Northland had been traversed from west to east and they had
crossed the fierce bosom of Unaga's plateau. The reality of it was no
better and only little worse than had been anticipated. It had been a
journey of hills, everlasting hills, and interminable primordial
forests, with dreary breaks of open plains. Each season had brought its
own troubles, with always lying ahead the deadly anticipation of the
winter yet to come.

It was the thought of this, and the indications everywhere about them,
that had spurred Steve to hunt down the sled track upon which they had
miraculously fallen.

They moved on in silence for a long time. Such was the way of these men.
The great silences had eaten into their bones. The life and labours of
the trail would have been intolerable amidst the chatter of useless
talk.

The rolling swing of their gait carried them swiftly to their vantage
ground, and hope stirred Steve to give expression to his thoughts.

"It would be queer to find those fancy 'Sleeper Indians' of yours," he
said.

Julyman cast a glance over his left shoulder in the direction of the
steely north. Somewhere back there far beyond his view stood the great
Spire of Unaga, and the black cloud hovering about its crest. It had
been left far, far behind them, but it still remained a memory.

"No Sleeper Indian man," he said decidedly. Then he added with a final
shake of his head: "Oh no."

Steve laughed. It was not often these men laughed on the trail. Just
now, however, the excitement of hope had robbed the white man of
something of his habit.

"Guess your yarn didn't just locate them. Where d'you reckon they are?"

Julyman slackened his gait as they breasted the final rise where the
sled track vanished over the brow of the hill. His dark, questioning
eyes were turned enquiringly upon his boss, and he searched the smiling
face that looked back at him out of its framing of heavy fur. He feared
to be laughed at. He pointed at the northern horizon.

"Him--Unaga," was all he said.

St