t the whole keg."

While he was speaking he was shaping a small stick into a small plug,
which he drove tight into the keg.

"That will fix it," he said. "Now then, put these boxes on the other
side. That will do. Take your pony toward the door and tie him there.
Little Thunder and I will load the rest and bring them up."

In a very short time all the remaining goods were packed into neat loads
and lashed upon the pack ponies in such a careful manner that neither
box nor keg could be seen outside the cover of blankets and buffalo
skins.

"Now then," cried Raven. "Boots and saddles! We will give you a better
mount to-day," he continued, selecting a stout built sorrel pony. "There
you are! And a dandy he is, sure-footed as a goat and easy as a cradle.
Now then, Nighthawk, we shall just clear out this bunch."

As he spoke he whipped the blanket off his horse. Cameron could not
forbear an exclamation of wonder and admiration as his eyes fell
upon Raven's horse. And not without reason, for Nighthawk was as
near perfection as anything in horse flesh of his size could be. His
coal-black satin skin, his fine flat legs, small delicate head, sloping
hips, round and well ribbed barrel, all showed his breed. Rolling up the
blanket, Raven strapped it to his saddle and, flinging himself astride
his horse, gave a yell that galvanised the wretched, shivering,
dispirited bunch into immediate life and activity.

"Get out the packers there, Little Thunder. Hurry up! Don't be all day.
Cameron, fall behind with me."

Little Thunder seized the leading line of the first packer, leaped
astride his own pony, and pushed out into the storm. But the rest of the
animals held back and refused to face the blizzard. The traditions of
the cayuse are unheroic in the matter of blizzards and are all in favor
of turning tail to every storm that blows. But Nighthawk soon overcame
their reluctance, whether traditional or otherwise. With a fury nothing
less than demoniacal he fell upon the animals next him and inspired them
with such terror that, plunging forward, they carried the bunch crowding
through the door. It was no small achievement to turn some twenty
shivering, balky, stubborn cayuses and bronchos out of their shelter
and swing them through the mazes of the old lumber camp into the trail
again. But with Little Thunder breaking the trail and chanting his
encouraging refrain in front and the trader and his demoniac stallion
dynamically bringin