ing across the men's fancies the
influences of the North moved invisible, alert, suddenly roused.

Dick whirled with an exclamation, throwing down and back the lever of
his Winchester, his face suffused, his eye angry.

"Damnation!" exclaimed Bolton, anticipating his intention, and springing
forward in time to strike up the muzzle of the rifle, though not soon
enough to prevent the shot.

Against the snow, plastered on a distant tree, the bullet hit,
scattering the fine powder; then ricochetted, shrieking with increasing
joy as it mounted the upper air. After it, as though released by its
passage from the spell of the great frost, trooped the voices and echoes
of the wilderness. In the still air such a racket would carry miles.

Sam looked from the man to the dog.

"Well, between the two of you!" said he.

Dick sprang forward, lashing the team with his whip.

"After him!" he shouted.

They ran in a swirl of light snow. In a very few moments they came to a
bundle of pelts, a little pile of traps, the unnecessary impediments
discarded by the man they pursued. So near had they been to a capture.

Sam, out of breath, peremptorily called a halt.

"Hold on!" he commanded. "Take it easy. We can't catch him like this.
He's travelling light, and he's one man, and he has a fresh team. He'll
pull away from us too easy, and leave us with worn-out dogs." The old
man sat and deliberately filled his pipe.

Dick fumed up and down, chafing at the delay, convinced that something
should be done immediately, but at a loss to tell what it should be.

"What'll we do, then?" he asked, after a little.

"He leaves a trail, don't he?" inquired Sam. "We must follow it."

"But what good--how can we ever catch up?"

"We've got to throw away our traps and extra duffle. We've got to travel
as fast as we can without wearing ourselves out. He may try to go too
fast, and so we may wear him down. It's our only show, anyway. If we
lose him now, we'll never find him again. That trail is all we have to
go by."

"How if it snows hard? It's getting toward spring storms."

"If it snows hard--well--" The old man fell silent, puffing away at his
pipe. "One thing I want you to understand," he continued, looking up
with a sudden sternness, "don't you ever take it on yourself to shoot
that gun again. We're to take that man alive. The noise of the shot
to-day was a serious thing; it gave Jingoss warning, and perhaps spoiled
our chance to surprise