"The letter of the law," Hitchcock sneered. "But go ahead. I'm willing.
And hurry up. I can't get out of this camp and away from its vermin any
too quick."

The division was effected without further comment. He lashed his meagre
belongings upon one of the sleds, rounded in his four dogs, and harnessed
up. His portion of outfit and gear he did not touch, though he threw
onto the sled half a dozen dog harnesses, and challenged them with his
eyes to interfere. But they shrugged their shoulders and watched him
disappear in the forest.

* * * * *

A man crawled upon his belly through the snow. On every hand loomed the
moose-hide lodges of the camp. Here and there a miserable dog howled or
snarled abuse upon his neighbor. Once, one of them approached the
creeping man, but the man became motionless. The dog came closer and
sniffed, and came yet closer, till its nose touched the strange object
which had not been there when darkness fell. Then Hitchcock, for it was
Hitchcock, upreared suddenly, shooting an unmittened hand out to the
brute's shaggy throat. And the dog knew its death in that clutch, and
when the man moved on, was left broken-necked under the stars. In this
manner Hitchcock made the chief's lodge. For long he lay in the snow
without, listening to the voices of the occupants and striving to locate
Sipsu. Evidently there were many in the tent, and from the sounds they
were in high excitement. At last he heard the girl's voice, and crawled
around so that only the moose-hide divided them. Then burrowing in the
snow, he slowly wormed his head and shoulders underneath. When the warm
inner air smote his face, he stopped and waited, his legs and the greater