comb by the throat and squeeze the arrogance out of him as juice is
squeezed out of a lemon. There is flesh for which one's fingers itch.

"I notice you're ready to camp when I am," the larger man muttered.
"Understand, this is no nice place to be without grub, for it's liable
to storm any hour, and storms last at this season."

"Now don't get cold feet." Harkness could be maddeningly patronizing
when he chose. "Leave it to me. I'll take you a short cut, and we'll
eat lunch in a cabin to-morrow noon."

But noon of the next day found Harkness still plodding up the river
with the dogs close at his heels. The hills to the northward were
growing higher, and Folsom's general knowledge of direction told him
that they were in danger of going too far.

"I think the Imnachuck is over there," said he.

Harkness hesitated, then he nodded: "Right-o! It's just over that
low saddle." He indicated a sweeping hillside ahead, and a half-mile
further on he left the creek and began to climb. This was heavy work
for the dogs, and mid-afternoon came before the partners had gained
the summit only to discover that they were not upon a saddleback
after all, but upon the edge of a vast rolling tableland from which a
fanlike system of creeks radiated. In all directions was a desolate
waste of barren peaks.

Folsom saw that the sky ahead was thick and dark, as if a storm
impended, and realizing only too well the results of the slightest
error in judgment he called to Harkness. But the latter pretended
not to hear, and took advantage of the dogs' fatigue to hurry out of
earshot. It was some time before the team overhauled him.

"Do you know where you are?" Folsom inquired.

"Certainly." Harkness studied the panorama spread before him. "That
blue gulch yonder is the Imnachuck." He pointed to a valley perhaps
four miles away.

A fine snow began to sift downward. The mountain peaks to the
northward became obscured as by thin smoke, the afternoon shortened
with alarming swiftness. Night, up here with a blizzard brewing, was
unthinkable, so after a while the driver called another halt.

"Something informs me that you're completely lost," he said, mildly.

"Who, me? There she is." Harkness flung out a directing hand once
more.

Folsom hesitated, battling with his leaping desires, and upon that
momentary hesitation hinged results out of all proportions to the
gravity of the situation--issues destined to change the deepest
channels of his l