s on
the sled, another. He cursed behind the scarf as he thought of Cahill.
This was Cahill's fault, their being out here in the storm. If it
weren't for Cahill, he would be back at the cabin, snug and warm, logs
blazing cheerfully in the fireplace.

It was a rotten time for Cahill to have taken sick, Hager fumed. But
it had happened. And it had left him with nothing else to do but pack
their catch of furs, harness up the sled, and start out with Cahill
for the doctor in Moose Gulch.

He almost regretted having taken the furs. With Cahill an added burden
on the sled, it was too large a load for the dogs to pull with the
necessary speed and endurance. But he hadn't dared to leave the entire
season's catch unguarded at the cabin. If some wanderer appeared in
his and Cahill's absence, the furs would be an irresistible
temptation.

Fearing, thus, to leave the furs behind, and now endangered by their
weight, Hager found the situation maddening. And the storm was making
matters worse. It was near the end of winter, but the climate had
chosen this moment to be at its most unco-operative.

Hager muttered blackly against the storm, wondering why he had allowed
his trapper's dream of wealth to lure him to this far northern corner
of Alaska. It was a cold, bleak and hostile country. Tiny settlements,
like Moose Gulch were few and far between. Of course, furs were at
their best and most plentiful here. He and Cahill had proved that, for
their catch was a large one. Hager's thoughts soared briefly above his
bitter mood as he thought of the money the furs would bring. And of
the things that the money would bring back in civilization.

Added to what he had so far managed to save, his share would make
almost enough to start a fox breeding ranch. Or a mink ranch. Almost
enough--but not quite. That meant he would have to spend another
winter in this location, and Hager flinched at the thought. He hated
loneliness and the bitter, subzero cold. Most of all he hated the
cold. Only a fur breeding ranch, with large, warm living quarters,
would have made it bearable.

Hager didn't know when the idea came to him. It must have been lying
dormant for a long time in a far, dark corner of his mind, only now
surging to the fore. Subconsciously he must have prepared himself for
this moment of inspiration. He wasn't sure. He was aware only of an
interval while he plodded behind the sled, drawn by the struggling and
panting team, cursing the do