camp in a blizzard. If you camp in the
middle of 'em you've got to tie yourself down or the wind might hang you
on a rock somewhere, and if you camp out of the wind against a wall, a
snow cornice might bust loose and bury you forty feet deep."

'Merican Joe grinned. "You sourdough--you know. I know you sourdough
w'en I seen you han'le de dogs--an' I know w'en you buy de grub. But
mos' I know w'en you pack de toboggan--you ain' put all de grub on wan
toboggan an' all de odder stuff on de odder toboggan----"

Connie laughed. "Lots of men have made that mistake. And then if they
get separated one dies of starvation, and the other freezes to death, or
if they lose one toboggan they're in the same fix."

'Merican Joe returned the dishes and stove to the pack and glanced at
the sky. "I ain' t'ink we mak' de timber tonight. She git dark queek
now--seven, eight mile mor' we got to camp."

"Yes," assented Connie. "And the days are getting so short that from now
on we'll quit camping at noon. We'll pull once and make a day of
it--anyway till we get a moon."

[Illustration: "In the whirling blizzard, without protection of timber,
one place was as good as another to camp, and while the Indian busied
himself with the dogs, Connie proceeded to dig a trench in the snow."

Drawn by Frank E. Schoonover]

To this plan the Indian readily agreed and a moment later struck out
ahead as "forerunner" to break trail for the dogs. Despite the fact that
there was more snow on the eastern slope, the two soon found it
insufficient to check the toboggans upon the series of steep pitches and
long slopes they now encountered. At the end of a mile a halt was made,
Connie's dogs were turned loose to follow, both toboggans were hitched
behind the Mackenzie River dogs, and while 'Merican Joe plodded ahead,
Connie had all he could do at the tail rope. An hour later the wind
suddenly changed and came roaring out of the north. The whole sky became
overcast and stinging particles of flinty snow were driven against their
faces. The storm increased in fury. The stinging particles changed to
dry, powdery snow dust that whirled and eddied about them so thickly
that Connie could not see the dogs from the rear of the toboggans.
Covering their noses and mouths, the two bored on through the white
smother--a slow moving, ghostly procession, with the snow powder matted
thick into the hairy coats of the dogs and the clothing of the mushers.
Not until darkness ad