The Wbite Wolf of the North 357 



yard of white from his feet to the irregular sky- 

 line. 



" Mebbe car'boo," he muttered, as he rolled his 

 eyes toward a slight depression which I should have 

 passed by. Then he stooped and thrust his hand 

 into the snow. 



"Big bull old," was all the comment he made 

 as he straightened and again led the way. 



Evidently the open had no attraction for him, for 

 he swung off to the right, keeping along the edge of 

 the cover. Here what breeze there was had full 

 sweep, and it nipped keenly at the nose, cheeks, 

 and chin. Already my heavy mustache was burdened 

 with ice, and a certain caution about breathing had 

 developed. But Jo did not appear to bother about 

 trifles like that, although his bronzed face did show 

 a warmer color. His steady, remorseless gait never 

 changed, and the rear view of him suggested that he 

 was apt to go on till spring. Nor was the shoeing 

 easy. The old snow-shoer will understand what the 

 conditions meant, and while I was in very fair form 

 and no mean performer across country, I thoroughly 

 realized that there was an iron man ahead. This, 

 too, while merely following a pace-maker a very 

 different matter from leading. 



It was perhaps an hour later when he halted and 

 blew a great cloud of steam from his lips. I under- 

 stood, and at once produced the flask and poured 

 him a fair measure into the metal cup. The good 

 stuff fairly fell into him but an Indian's an Indian. 



" You no take ? " he queried, while a surprised 

 expression flitted across the chasm which had en- 

 tombed his share. 



