l, you can have him. And you can stay, both of
you." He drew his cap down over his grizzled hair and turned toward the
door, but Hopper saw the light in his eye and intercepted him.

"I'll go home with you, Dan," said he.

"I ain't going home."

"You mean--"

"There ain't room enough in Ophir for Barclay and me and the woman."

"My God, man, listen to that blizzard! It's suicide!"

But McGill only repeated, dully: "There ain't room, Hopper. There ain't
room!" and with the gait of an old man shambled to the door. When he
opened it the storm shrieked in glee and rushed in, wrapping him up to
the middle in its embrace. He closed the door behind him, then went
stumbling off into the night, and as he crept blindly forth upon the
frozen bosom of the river the bellowing wind wiped out his footprints an
arm's-length at his back.

THE BRAND

I

The valley was very still. No breath of wind had stirred it for many
days. It was smothered so heavily in snow that the firs were bent; even
the bare birch limbs carried precarious burdens, and when gravity
relieved some sagging branch the mass beneath welcomed the avalanche so
softly that the only sound was a whisper as the bough returned to its
position. The brooding cold had cleared the air of sound as it had of
moisture. No birds piped, there was no murmur of running water, no
evidence of animal life except an occasional wavering line etched into
the white by the feet of some tiny rodent.

The rolling hills were sparsely timbered, against an empty north sky a
jumble of saw-toothed peaks were limned like carvings, and everywhere
was the same unending hush of winter. The desolation was complete.

Yet there was life here, for spaced at regular intervals across the
gulch were mounds of white, each forming the lips of a rectangular
cavity resembling an open grave. They were perfectly aligned and
separated from each other by precisely thirty paces; surrounding each
was a clearing out of which freshly cut stumps protruded bearing snow
caps fashioned like the chapeau of a drum-major. There were six of these
holes, and a seventh was in process of digging. Over the last one a
crude windlass straddled and the heap of debris at its feet showed raw
and dirty against the snow. Out of the aperture a thin vapor rose
lazily, coating the drum and rope with rime; from the clearing a narrow
trail wound to a cabin beside the creek-bank.

McGill came out into the morning and wi