gs, cursing Cahill and the fierce cold
that mischievously searched out the most tender portions of his face
beneath the hood of his parka. There was that moment, and then--

* * * * *

And then he found himself toying with the thought of murdering Cahill.

With the other out of the way, the entire proceeds from the sale of
furs would be his. There would be no necessity to split. He could
start the fur ranch at once. He wouldn't have to spend another winter
in this vicious cold. He--

A dozen fascinating new possibilities opened up to Hager. It was as
though he had been blind and was able to see only now. Breath-taking
vistas blossomed before his awakened eyes. There was music in what he
visioned, music and the voices of women, bright lights, color,
movement, and the warmth of gentler climes.

The brightest part of the picture was that Cahill's death need not be
outright murder. The man was sick. His life depended on getting him
into the hands of the doctor in Moose Gulch as quickly as possible.

If Hager were simply to delay in reaching the settlement, Cahill would
die as surely as though from the thrust of a knife or the impact of a
bullet. Exposure to the biting cold would finish him. And nobody would
know. Hager could always claim that he had hurried as best he could
under the difficult, hampering circumstances of the storm, but that
Cahill had died on the way. As easy as that. If Marshal Art Maddox
stuck his long nose into the matter, Cahill's unmarked body would be
proof that there had been no foul play.

Hager felt satisfied that his scheme was without loopholes. The idea
had become a definite plan. And now his square lips hardened with
determination behind the scarf. He looked at Cahill, dozing feverishly
on the sled, with deep-set gray eyes that were bleak and implacable.

Cahill would never reach Moose Gulch alive.

With his grim purpose giving new drive to his actions, Hager glanced
about him. It was difficult to see through the curtain of snow that
hung between him and the landscape, but by squinting steadily through
momentary rifts made by the frigid, lashing wind, he was able
presently to discern that they were near the pass leading out of the
valley. Beyond the pass, he knew, was a forest, dipping down to the
banks of a frozen stream. The stream ran for several miles until it
branched into a river, which in turn led directly into Moose Gulch.
With these landmarks to