book. He saw the belted Orion swinging
in its accustomed place, and the Great Bear dipping close to the
horizon. It was seven o'clock, he felt sure of that, and yet that
sound did not come. He advanced for some distance, halted, and again
listened.

It was a cold night, and his breath pouring forth in clouds smote with
a hissing sound upon the frosty air. He heeded it not. His parka hood
was backward thrown to enable him to hear the better.

Presently dark forms loomed up out of the night, straight before him.
"I was afraid of it," he muttered. "The rumor I heard was only too
true, and they are here! May God help us!"

The objects which he beheld were log cabins, which he soon reached. No
lights shone from the buildings, and the place seemed deserted.
Passing among the houses he crossed an open space of ground, climbed a
hill, and approached a long, low structure. He opened the door and
entered. The place was in darkness, but quite warm. Soon he emerged,
and looked around much puzzled. The Indian camps lay stretched out
before him along the brink of the hill. These he visited one by one,
but no sound greeted him except the occasional snarl or bark of a dog.
What did it all mean? He placed his hand to his forehead, and tried to
think. Where were the miners? What had happened to the Indians? Why
was the place deserted?

As he stood before one of the lodges, uncertain what to do, a cry fell
upon his ear. Again it came, this time much lower. Keith peered
through the darkness. He hurried down the hill. He saw a faint
glimmer of light, and found it came from a log building directly before
him. The clamour of voices, cries of rage and confusion, could be
distinctly heard, as with fast beating heart he bounded forward. He
guessed the truth, and knew there was no time to lose. He reached the
door, and, scarcely waiting to lift the latch, he drove it open with
one push of his powerful shoulder, and gazed upon the scene within.

CHAPTER IV

"WHERE IS MY FLOCK?"

For long years the Indian village of Klassan had lain snugly ensconsed
between the sheltering arms of two towering mountains. Once, beyond
the memory of the oldest native, the lodges had stood close to the
small river Kaslo, which poured its icy waters into the mighty Yukon.
But one mild spring night an ice jam in a deep, narrow gorge, pressed
by the tremendous weight of water, gave way, and, rushing down, carried
destruction t