t then.' The manufacture of snowshoes and
moccasins ceased. Somebody called the name of an absent member, who
came out of an ancient cabin at the edge of the campfire and joined
them. The cabin was one of the many mysteries which lurk in the vast
recesses of the North. Built when and by whom, no man could tell.

Two graves in the open, piled high with stones, perhaps contained the
secret of those early wanderers. But whose hand had piled the stones?
The moment had come. Jacques Baptiste paused in the fitting of a
harness and pinned the struggling dog in the snow. The cook made mute
protest for delay, threw a handful of bacon into a noisy pot of beans,
then came to attention. Sloper rose to his feet. His body was a
ludicrous contrast to the healthy physiques of the Incapables. Yellow
and weak, fleeing from a South American fever-hole, he had not broken
his flight across the zones, and was still able to toil with men. His
weight was probably ninety pounds, with the heavy hunting knife thrown
in, and his grizzled hair told of a prime which had ceased to be. The
fresh young muscles of either Weatherbee or Cuthfert were equal to ten
times the endeavor of his; yet he could walk them into the earth in a
day's journey. And all this day he had whipped his stronger comrades
into venturing a thousand miles of the stiffest hardship man can
conceive. He was the incarnation of the unrest of his race, and the old
Teutonic stubbornness, dashed with the quick grasp and action of the
Yankee, held the flesh in the bondage of the spirit.

'All those in favor of going on with the dogs as soon as the ice sets,
say ay.' 'Ay!' rang out eight voices--voices destined to string a trail
of oaths along many a hundred miles of pain.

'Contrary minded?' 'No!' For the first time the Incapables were united
without some compromise of personal interests.

'And what are you going to do about it?' Weatherbee added belligerently.

'Majority rule! Majority rule!' clamored the rest of the party.

'I know the expedition is liable to fall through if you don't come,'
Sloper replied sweetly; 'but I guess, if we try real hard, we can
manage to do without you.

What do you say, boys?' The sentiment was cheered to the echo.

'But I say, you know,' Cuthfert ventured apprehensively; 'what's a chap
like me to do?'

'Ain't you coming with us.' 'No--o.' 'Then do as you damn well please.
We won't have nothing to say.' 'Kind o' calkilate yuh might settle it
with