MOOSWA BRINGS HELP 245 



biting frost-wind and snow crust ; also the day s 

 hot sun was beginning to rot its brittle shell. 

 Oftener and oftener it broke under the racing 

 Moose ; the lighter dogs ran freely over its 

 treacherous surface. The Bull looked over his 

 shoulder at his pursuers ; they were gaining he 

 could see that. &quot; Six points more to the Shack,&quot; 

 he muttered, as he rounded a low-reaching head 

 land that turned the river wide in its snake-like 

 course. Animals count river distances as do the 

 Indians, so many land points from one place to 

 another ; Mooswa s six points were a good ten 

 miles. 



Each time he floundered in the deep Snow his 

 swift-running enemies gained at least a dozen 

 yards. 



&quot; I wish Blue Wolf were here,&quot; thought 

 Mooswa ; &quot; I 11 never make the Shack. I 11 try 

 a Boundary Call.&quot; He stretched his throat, and 

 called, &quot; Wha-a-a i-i-n-g,&quot; which is not unlike 

 the cry of a Rook. The hounds answered with 

 an ironical yell ; but another sound struck the 

 runner s ear, very faint, and very far ahead ; it 

 was the Help-call of The Boundaries Blue 

 Wolfs voice. 



&quot; Good old Rof ! &quot; cried the Moose, as he shot 

 forward with revived strength. 



The hounds were now running by sight, head 



