iver, to the distant
gold-creeks which offered a refuge from man-hunters in many a deserted
cabin marooned by the deep snows.

Even the iron frame and steel muscles of the Scotch-Canadian protested
against the task he had set them that day. It was a time to sit snugly
inside by a stove and listen to the howling of the wind as it hurled
itself down from the divide. But from daylight till dark Colby Macdonald
fought with drifts and breasted the storm. He got into the harness with
the dogs. He broke trail for them, cheered them, soothed, comforted,
punished. Long after night had fallen he staggered into the hut of two
prospectors, his parka so stiff with frozen snow that it had to be
beaten with a hammer before the coat could be removed.

"How long since a dog team passed--seven huskies and two men?" was his
first question.

"No dog team has passed for four days," one of the men answered.

"You mean you haven't seen one," Macdonald corrected.

"I mean none has passed--unless it went by in the night while we slept.
And even then our dogs would have warned us."

Macdonald flung his ice-coated gloves to a table and stooped to take off
his mukluks. His face was blue with the cold, but the bleak look in the
eyes came from within. He said nothing more until he was free of his wet
clothes. Then he sat down heavily and passed a hand over his frozen
eyebrows.

"Get me something to eat and take care of my dogs. There is food for
them on the sled," he said.

While he ate he told them of the bank robbery and the murder. Their
resentment against the men who had done it was quite genuine. There
could be no doubt they told the truth when they said no sled had
preceded his. They were honest, reliable prospectors. He knew them
both well.

The weary man slept like a log. He opened his eyes next morning to find
one of his hosts shaking him.

"Six o'clock, Mr. Macdonald. Your breakfast is ready. Jim is looking out
for the huskies."

Half an hour later the Scotchman gave the order, "Mush!" He was off
again, this time on the back trail as far as the Narrows, from which
point he meant to strike across to intersect the fork of the road
leading to the divide.

The storm had passed and when the late sun rose it was in a blue sky.
Fine enough the day was overhead, but the slushy snow, where it was worn
thin on the river by the sweep of the wind, made heavy travel for the
dogs. Macdonald was glad enough to reach the Narrows, where he