clothes, then bracing his
boots against the horse's side pulled and tugged until the pack was
right again. "You'll be glad you've got these things before the trip is
done," he prophesied. He pointed to the North, an unlooked for sobriety
upon his face.

Far against the horizon the clouds were beginning to spread, dark and
gray and strange, over the northern hills. These were not the clouds of
summer rains. They were the first banners of an enemy--a grim and
dreadful foe who had his ramparts in the wilds, and his ambush laid for
such feeble creatures as would dare to brave his fastness.

* * * * *

Bill Bronson gave his last directions, tightened the last cinch, and
slipped his rifle into the saddle scabbard. "There's just one thing
more--the choice of horses," he said. "Miss Tremont, of course you
can take your pick." His tone was trustful. "Of course that will be
all right with the other gentlemen--for you to have the best and
safest horse."

Strangely, neither of the two men seemed to greet this suggestion with
especial enthusiasm. "I want a good and a safe horse," Lounsbury said
evenly. "Of course you must provide Miss Tremont with the same."

The woodsman sighed, ever so softly. He returned to Vosper, but if the
latter had any suggestions to offer, the hard eyes of the guide caused
him to think better of them. "I'm sorry to say that good horses--and
safe horses--aren't to be found in the same animal up here," Bill
explained. "If you have a good horse--one that'll take the mud and
swim the river and stand up under the day's march--he'll likely have
too much sense and spirit to be safe. He'll more than likely prance
around when you get on and buck you off if he thinks he can get away
with it. If you've got a safe horse, one that's scared to death of you,
he won't be a good horse--a yellow cuss that has to be dragged through
every mud-puddle. These are all Indian ponies, the best that can be got
up here, but they're not old ladies' driving mares. Miss Tremont, the
best horse in this bunch is my bay, Mulvaney--but nobody can ride him
but me. I'd love to let you ride him if you could, and after a day or
two I'd be willing for you to try it. But he doesn't know what fear is,
and he doesn't know when to give up."

The man spoke soberly. It was wholly plain that Mulvaney was very dear
to his heart. Men do not ride over the caribou trails without
engendering strong feelings toward their mounts. S