236 The Ptarmigan Family 



might, with extra care, be saved. So far, so good. 

 I had killed my own specimens and added a new 

 bird to the long score of the veteran twelve- 

 gauge. 



I pocketed the birds, broke the gun, put in 

 fresh shells, and, on the strength of an easy but 

 clean kill, produced the flask. As Joe took his 

 dose, I noticed his face. Instead of the custom- 

 ary grin, it showed grave and solemn as an owl's. 

 The sparkle of the eye, too, was missing, and when 

 the sight of a drink didn't make Joe's optics gleam 

 something surely was amiss. 



" You foller dem ? " he tersely queried, as I 

 made a significant motion. I was somewhat 

 astonished. 



" Bad luck — kill dem — look dur ! " 



Something in his voice startled me, and my 

 eyes flashed northward, whither his long arm 

 pointed. 



Under great stress a man sometimes thinks of 

 whimsical things. What I thought was, " I've 

 killed three pups of the North Pole, and here's 



the whole d d Arctic Circle coming south to 



see about it ! " 



Rolling steadily down, like snowy surf moun- 

 tains high, came a squall the like of which I had 

 never seen. One glance was sufficient. The white 

 mass seemed thick enough for good shoeing, and 

 the way in which its deadly advance blotted out 



