covered it with a blanket, and then, swiftly, he recovered his rifle and
revolver, harnessed his dogs, and struck out on the trail of Squigg. An
hour after the storm struck, the trail was obliterated. Here and there,
where it cut through thick spruce copses, he could make it out but by
noon he knew he was following only its general direction. He knew also
that by bearing slightly to the southward he would strike the river that
led to the village of the Indians.

It was nearly dark when he came out upon a flat that even in the gloom
and the whirling snow he recognized as the beaver meadow from which the
trail dipped to the river. Upon the edge of it he halted to examine the
spruce thickets along its western side, for signs of the trail of
Squigg, and it was while so engaged that he looked up to see dimly in
the white smother the form of the man and his dog-team. The man halted
suddenly and seemed to be staring at him. Connie stood motionless in his
tracks, waiting. For a long time the man stood peering through the
flying snow, then the boy saw his arm raise, heard the crack of his
whiplash, and then the sound of his voice--high-pitched and unnatural it
sounded coming out of the whirling gloom: "Hi yu, there! Mush-u!"

Not until Squigg was within ten feet of him did the boy move, then he
stepped directly into the trail. A low, mewling sound quavered from the
man's lips, and he collapsed like an empty bag.

"Stand up!" ordered the boy, in disgust. But instead of obeying, the
man grovelled and weltered about in the snow, all the while emitting an
incoherent, whimpering wail. Connie reached down to snatch the man to
his feet, when suddenly he started back in horror. For the wailing
suddenly ceased, and in his ears, high and shrill, sounded a peal of
maniacal laughter. The eyes of the man met his own in a wild glare,
while peal after peal of the horrible laughter hurtled from between the
parchment-like lips that writhed back to expose the snaggy, gum-shrunken
teeth.

Horrible as had been the sight of Black Moran lying in the
blood-reddened snow, the sight of Squigg wallowing in the trail and the
sound of his weird laughter, were far more horrible. The laughter
ceased, the man struggled to his feet and fixed Connie with his
wild-eyed stare, as he advanced toward him with a peculiar loose-limbed
waddle: "I know you! I know you!" he shrilled. "I heard the flames
cracklin', an' snappin'! An' now you've got me, an' Moran's co