unrelenting
iron. There was no beaten path to guide him now, and sometimes the
trees were so closely set as barely to permit the passage of the
sledge. On the new snow could be seen the dainty tracks of ermine,
and beside them the cleanly indented marks of a fox. There were
triplicate clusters of impressions, showing where the hare had
passed, and occasionally the huge, splayed imprints of a caribou.
But, though the life of the wild creatures was teeming at this
season, there was no sound in all the leagues of forest, except
the sharp crack of some freezing tree-trunk and the noise of
Donald's own passage.

Late in the afternoon the traveler found the cabin of a white
trapper for which he had started that morning.

"Can you tell me where Charley Seguis is?" he asked.

"Went north, toward Beaver Lake, three days ago," replied the other,
shortly. "He stopped here on his way up, and said he was looking
for better grounds."

"Going to set out a new line of traps then, was he?"

"Yes, Mr. McTavish," assented the trapper.

"Thanks," said McTavish, gathering up the whip. "I must be going."

"What! Going to travel all night? Better stay and bunk with me."

"Can't do it, friend." And a few minutes later, the captain of Fort
Dickey was on his way again.

He knew that Charley Seguis had three days' start of him. He knew
also that Charley was an exceptionally intelligent half-breed, and
would travel well out of the district before allowing himself
breathing space. McTavish intended surprising him by the swiftness
of pursuit. So, lighted on his way by the brilliant stars and the
silent, flaunting banners of the northern lights, he plodded doggedly
on until midnight. Then he built a fire, thawed fish for the dogs,
and prepared food for himself, finally lying down on his bed of
spruce boughs, his feet to the flames.

Two hours before dawn found him shivering with bitter cold, and
heaping logs upon the fire for the morning tea; and, while the
stars were fading, Mistisi, his leader, plunged into the traces
for the long day's march. It was grilling work. The cold seemed
something vital, sentient, alive, which opposed him with all its
might. The wind and snow appeared cunning allies of the one great
enemy; and, to make matters worse, the very underbrush and trees
themselves apparently conspired against this one microscopic human
who dared invade the regions of death.

But Donald McTavish was not thinking of these things as