"Get me something to eat and take care of my dogs. There is food for
them on the sled," he said.
While he ate he told them of the bank robbery and the murder. Their
resentment against the men who had done it was quite genuine. There
could be no doubt they told the truth when they said no sled had
preceded his. They were honest, reliable prospectors. He knew them
both well.
The weary man slept like a log. He opened his eyes next morning to find
one of his hosts shaking him.
"Six o'clock, Mr. Macdonald. Your breakfast is ready. Jim is looking out
for the huskies."
Half an hour later the Scotchman gave the order, "Mush!" He was off
again, this time on the back trail as far as the Narrows, from which
point he meant to strike across to intersect the fork of the road
leading to the divide.
The storm had passed and when the late sun rose it was in a blue sky.
Fine enough the day was overhead, but the slushy snow, where it was worn
thin on the river by the sweep of the wind, made heavy travel for the
dogs. Macdonald was glad enough to reach the Narrows, where he could
turn from the river and cut across to hit the trail of the men he was
following. He had about five miles to go before he would reach the Smith
Crossing road and every foot of it he would have to break trail for the
dogs.
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