Their small,
sharp-shod hoofs had punched sink-holes in the trail at every step.
Instead of a smooth bottom the dogs found a slushy bog cut to pieces.
At the end of an hour of wallowing Macdonald called a halt.
"There is a cutoff just below here. It will save us nearly two miles,
but we'll have to break trail. Swing to the right just below the big
willow," he told Elliot. "I'll join you presently and relieve you on the
job. But first Miss O'Neill and I are going for a little side trip."
All three of them looked at him in sharp surprise. Gordon opened his
lips to answer and closed them again without speaking. Sheba had flashed
a warning to him.
"I hope this trip isn't very far off the trail," she said quietly. "I'm
just a wee bit tired."
"It's not far," the mine-owner said curtly.
He was busy unpacking his sled. Presently he found the dog moccasins for
which he had been looking, repacked his sled, and fitted the shoes to
the bleeding feet of the team leader. Elliot, suspicious and uncertain
what to do, watched him at work, but at a signal from Sheba turned
reluctantly away and drove down to the cutoff.
Macdonald turned his dogs out of the trail and followed a little ridge
for perhaps a quarter of a mile.
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