at the ascent beyond. Then, ere
the sled had left the river, and while the dogs still struggled in their
harness to lift its nose over what was almost a cut-bank, and when
Nick's attention was most needed, the whip suddenly became idle, and his
stock of driving-curses changed to a shout of alarmed surprise.

Down he dropped upon his knees; and, with head bent low, examined the
disturbed surface of the snow. In an instant Ralph was at his side. The
dogs had ceased to pull and crouched down in their traces. A strange and
wonderful thing had happened. In their absence their valley had been
invaded, and the indications were those of human agency.

Nick pointed, and his outstretched forefinger moved slowly over a
footprint indicating the sharp, clean outline which the surface of the
snow still retained. A moccasin-covered foot had trodden there; and the
mark left was small, smaller than that of an ordinary man. And the two
heads, almost touching, bent over it in silent scrutiny.

Presently Ralph raised his eyes and looked ahead. Step by step he traced
the marks on up the hill in the direction of the dugout, and, at last,
silent speculation gave place to tense, low-spoken words.

"Injun moccasins," he said.

"Guess so, by the seamin'."

"'Tain't a buck neche, neither."

"No."

There was an impressive pause, and the silent land seemed weighted down
as with an atmosphere of gloomy presage. Nick broke it, and his voice
had in it a harsh ring. The fire of passion was once more alight in his
eyes.

"It's a squaw's," he added.

"Yes, sure; a squaw's," and Ralph swallowed a deep breath as though his
surroundings stifled him.

A thrill of emotion moved both men. There had leapt within them, in one
great, overwhelming tide, all the old reckless craze for the shadowy
creature of Victor's story. At the mere suggestion of a squaw's presence
in that valley their blood-tide surged through their veins like a
torrent of fire, and their pulses were set beating like sledge-hammers.
A squaw! A squaw! That was their cry. Why not the White Squaw?

Whilst Ralph gazed on ahead Nick still bent over the footprint. The
delicate shape, the deep hollow of the ball of the foot, the round cup
which marked the heel, and, between them, the narrow, shallow
indentation which formed the high-arched instep. In fancy he built over
the marks the tall, lithe, straight-limbed creature Victor had told them
of. He saw the long flowing hair which fell