y penitent for his angry action, but too stubborn to make amends,
Mason toiled on at the head of the cavalcade, little dreaming that
danger hovered in the air. The timber clustered thick in the sheltered
bottom, and through this they threaded their way. Fifty feet or more
from the trail towered a lofty pine. For generations it had stood
there, and for generations destiny had had this one end in
view--perhaps the same had been decreed of Mason.

He stooped to fasten the loosened thong of his moccasin. The sleds came
to a halt, and the dogs lay down in the snow without a whimper. The
stillness was weird; not a breath rustled the frost-encrusted forest;
the cold and silence of outer space had chilled the heart and smote the
trembling lips of nature. A sigh pulsed through the air--they did not
seem to actually hear it, but rather felt it, like the premonition of
movement in a motionless void. Then the great tree, burdened with its
weight of years and snow, played its last part in the tragedy of life.
He heard the warning crash and attempted to spring up but, almost
erect, caught the blow squarely on the shoulder.

The sudden danger, the quick death--how often had Malemute Kid faced
it! The pine needles were still quivering as he gave his commands and
sprang into action. Nor did the Indian girl faint or raise her voice in
idle wailing, as might many of her white sisters. At his order, she
threw her weight on the end of a quickly extemporized handspike, easing
the pressure and listening to her husband's groans, while Malemute Kid
attacked the tree with his ax. The steel rang merrily as it bit into
the frozen trunk, each stroke being accompanied by a forced, audible
respiration, the 'Huh!' 'Huh!' of the woodsman.

At last the Kid laid the pitiable thing that was once a man in the
snow. But worse than his comrade's pain was the dumb anguish in the
woman's face, the blended look of hopeful, hopeless query. Little was
said; those of the Northland are early taught the futility of words and
the inestimable value of deeds. With the temperature at sixty-five
below zero, a man cannot lie many minutes in the snow and live. So the
sled lashings were cut, and the sufferer, rolled in furs, laid on a
couch of boughs. Before him roared a fire, built of the very wood which
wrought the mishap. Behind and partially over him was stretched the
primitive fly--a piece of canvas, which caught the radiating heat and
threw it back and down upon him