"Then we're out of meat?"

"All except the little piece outside the door. We've been going through
it pretty fast."

Bill spoke true. Their meat consumption had practically doubled since
Harold had come. For all his lack of physical exercise, the latter was
an unusually heavy eater.

"But we won't be able to find any now. The moose are gone----"

"We're not very likely to, that's certain; but it won't be a tragedy if
we don't. It would only be an annoyance. It's true that we've got to
have more supplies to start down--I don't believe we could make it
through with what we have, considering the loss of this ham--but if
it's necessary I can mush over to me Twenty-three Mile cabin and get the
supplies I left over there. Harold tells me he hasn't a thing in his
old place. However, I can do it, if we don't happen to pick up some
meat to-day."

"We might track down the wolves, and get one of those----"

"Wolf meat hasn't a flavor you'd care for, I'm afraid. The Indians have
been known to eat it, but they can but away beaver and tough old grizzly
bear. Those things are starvation meats only. But if you care to, we
can dash out and see if we can pick up a young caribou or a left-over
moose. It's pleasant out to-day, anyway. It's rather warm--I believe
there's going to be a change of weather."

"Good or bad?" the girl asked.

"Haven't had any government bulletins on that point, this morning.
Probably bad. The weather in the North, Virginia, goes along the way it
is a while, and then it gets worse."

She dressed, and at breakfast their exultation over their trip grew
painful to Harold's ears. He announced his intention of going along.

Curiously, even Virginia did not receive this announcement with
particular enthusiasm. It was not that her regard for Bill was any kin
to that she held for Harold. Rather, it was a fear that Harold's
presence might blunt the edge of the fine companionship she enjoyed with
the woodsman. It would throw a personal element into an otherwise
care-free and adventurous day. But she smiled at him, rather fondly.

"Just as you like, Harold."

They put on their snowshoes, their warmest wraps, and started gayly
forth. Bill took rather a new course to-day. He bent his steps toward
a stream that he called Creek Despair,--named for the fact that he had
once held high hopes of finding his lost mine along its waters, only to
meet an utter and hopeless failure. From the map he had