and dragging himself to his
feet. He went up more slowly, pausing from time to time to breathe and
to steady his reeling senses. At last he crawled over the trunk. The
moose lay before him. He sat down heavily upon the carcase and laughed.
He buried his face in his mittened hands and laughed some more.

He shook the hysteria from him. He drew his hunting knife and worked as
rapidly as his injured thumb and weakness would permit him. He did not
stop to skin the moose, but quartered it with its hide on. It was a
Klondike of meat.

When he had finished he selected a piece of meat weighing a hundred
pounds, and started to drag it down to the tent. But the snow was soft,
and it was too much for him. He exchanged it for a twenty-pound piece,
and, with many pauses to rest, succeeded in getting it to the tent. He
fried some of the meat, but ate sparingly. Then, and automatically, he
went out to his crouching place on the bank. There were sled-tracks in
the fresh snow on the trail. The sled-load of life had passed by while
he had been cutting up the moose.

But he did not mind. He was glad that the sled had not passed before the
coming of the moose. The moose had changed his plans. Its meat was worth
fifty cents a pound, and he was but little more than three miles from
Minto. He need no longer wait for the sled-load of life. The moose was
the sled-load of life. He would sell it. He would buy a couple of dogs
at Minto, some food and some tobacco, and the dogs would haul him south
along the trail to the sea, the sun, and civilisation.

He felt hungry. The dull, monotonous ache of hunger had now become a
sharp and insistent pang. He hobbled back to the tent and fried a slice
of meat. After that he smoked two whole pipefuls of dried tea leaves.
Then he fried another slice of moose. He was aware of an unwonted glow
of strength, and went out and chopped some firewood. He followed that up
with a slice of meat. Teased on by the food, his hunger grew into an
inflammation. It became imperative every little while to fry a slice of
meat. He tried smaller slices and found himself frying oftener.

In the middle of the day he thought of the wild animals that might eat
his meat, and he climbed the hill, carrying along his axe, the haul
rope, and a sled lashing. In his weak state the making of the cache and
storing of the meat was an all-afternoon task. He cut young saplings,
trimmed them, and tied them together into a tall scaffold. It was