see him. I was much worried
about the old man. He was no longer the cheerful, optimistic Jim of the
trail. He had taken to living alone. He had become grim and taciturn. He
cared only for his work, and, while he read his Bible more than ever, it
was with a growing fondness for the stern old prophets. There was no
doubt the North was affecting him strangely.

"Lord! don't it blow? Seems as if the wind had a spite against us,
wanted to put us out of business. It minds me of the blizzards we have
in the Northwest, only it seems ten times worse."

The Halfbreed went on to tell us of snowstorms he had known, while
huddled round the stove we listened to the monstrous uproar of the gale.

"Why don't you chink your cabin better, Jim?" I asked; "the snow's
sifting through in spots."

He shoved more wood into the stove, till it glowed to a dull red,
starred with little sparks that came and went.

"Snow with that wind would sift through a concrete wall," he said. "It's
part an' parcel of the awful land. I tell you there's a curse on this
country. Long, long ago godless people have lived in it, lived an'
sinned an' perished. An' for its wickedness in the past the Lord has put
His everlasting curse on it."

Sharply I looked at him. His eyes were staring. His face was drawn into
a knot of despair. He sat down and fell into a mood of gloomy silence.

How the storm was howling! The Half breed smoked his cigarette stolidly,
while I listened and shuddered, mightily thankful that I was so safe and
warm.

"Say, I wonder if there's any one out in this bedlam of a night?"

"If there is, God help him," said the Halfbreed. "He'll last about as
long as a snowball in hell."

"Yes, fancy wandering round out there, dazed and desperate; fancy the
wind knocking you down and heaping the snow on you; fancy going on and
on in the darkness till you freeze stiff. Ugh!"

Again I shuddered. Then, as the other two sat in silence, my mind
strayed to other things. Chiefly I thought of Berna, all alone in
Dawson. I longed to be back with her again. I thought of Locasto. Where
in his wild wanderings had he got to? I thought of Glengyle and Garry.
How had he fared after Mother died? Why did he not marry? Once a week I
got a letter from him, full of affection and always urging me to come
home. In my letters I had never mentioned Berna. There was time enough
for that.

Lord! a terrific gust of wind shook the cabin. It howled and screamed
insanely th