could
turn from the river and cut across to hit the trail of the men he was
following. He had about five miles to go before he would reach the Smith
Crossing road and every foot of it he would have to break trail for the
dogs. This was slow business, since he had no partner at the gee-pole.
Back and forth, back and forth he trudged, beating down the loose snow
for the runners. It was a hill trail, and the drifts were in most places
not very deep. But the Scotchman was doing the work of two, and at a
killing pace.

Over a ridge the team plunged down into a little park where the snow was
deeper. Macdonald, breaking trail across the mountain valley, found his
feet weighted with packed ice slush so that he could hardly move them.
When at last he had beaten down a path for his dogs he stood breathing
deep at the summit of the slope. Before him lay the main road to Smith's
Crossing, scarce fifty yards away. He gave a deep whoop of triumph, for
along it ran the wavering tracks left by a sled. He was on the heels of
his enemy at last.

As he turned back to his Siberian hounds, the eyes of Macdonald came to
abrupt attention. On the hillside, not ten yards from him, something
stuck out of the snow like a signpost. It was the foot of a man.

Slowly Macdonald moved toward it. He knew well enough what he had
stumbled across--one of the tragedies that in the North are likely
to be found in the wake of every widespread blizzard. Some unfortunate
traveler, blinded by the white swirl, had wandered from the trail and
had staggered up a draw to his death.

With a little digging the Alaskan uncovered a leg. The man had died
where he had fallen, face down. Macdonald scooped away the snow and
found a pack strapped to the back of the buried man. He cut the thongs
and tried to ease it away. But the gunnysack had frozen to the parka.
When he pulled, the rotten sacking gave way under the strain. The
contents of the pack spilled out.

The eyes in the grim face of Macdonald grew hard and steely. He had
found, by some strange freak of chance, much more than he had expected,
to find. Using his snowshoe as a shovel, he dug the body free and turned
it over. At sight of the face he gave a cry of astonishment.

CHAPTER XXIX

"DON'T TOUCH HIM! DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM!"

Gordon overslept. His plan had been to reach Kusiak at the end of a
long day's travel, but that had meant getting on the trail with the
first gleam of light. When he op