the anxious dog growling intermittently at his feet. He knew there were wolves still in the vicinity, for at times he could hear their ugly snarls near the spot where their companion had fallen.
Slowly the hours wore away, and at length the dawn began to steal over the land. It needed but a little light to show the dim forms of three wolves squatting on the snow some distance off. Bringing his rifle to his shoulder, Keith sent a ball straight through the heart of the largest, which bounded into the air, and then rolled over on the snow dead. The other two started up in surprise, but a second shot brought one of them to the ground, while his companion, bold brute though he was, turned and fled. Thus the weary watch and the fight were over, and Keith breathed a prayer of thankfulness at his escape from the blood-thirsty foe.
Long before the sun had made its appearance, man and dog were retracing their steps over the trail they had traversed the previous evening. It meant much to turn back and thread their way across that desolate waste of snow, through dreary forests, level plains, and sweeping lakes.
Hour after hour they moved, Keith all the time keeping a sharp look-out for signs to show where the dog had taken his trail. Tracks of various kinds were plentiful, crossing and re-crossing one another in the most confusing manner. It was certainly a puzzling task to choose the ones which would lead him to his destination.
Slowly he proceeded, peering here and there for some solution of the mystery. In this manner he had advanced a considerable distance, when the whining of the dog caused him to glance back. The animal had stopped, and seemed to be in trouble, looking first at the man, and then away to the left. Wondering what was the matter, Keith returned to the spot.
"Well, doggie," he exclaimed, "what's wrong?"
But the cur continued to whine, looking alternately to the left and up into the man's face.
Suddenly a thought flashed into Keith's mind. Perhaps the brute was calling his attention to the right trail. It was worth investigating at any rate.
The dog seemed to read his thoughts, and, weak though he was, gave a joyful bark, and bounded off in the direction toward which he had been looking.
"There's something in this after all," mused Keith, as he followed hard after.
Away in the distance a range of mountains stood out bold and austere against the sky. At a certain place a break appeared, one of Nature's vast passes, and toward this the dog made his way. Ahead lay a large, open plain, devoid of trees. Across this they travelled to a forest beyond, which clothed the base of the mountains. The trees were large and resembled a vast, silent army wedged into the valley, as if forbidding any progress that way.
But the dog was not thinking of the trees, nor how grand they looked in their soft, snowy mantle. He had something else on his mind, and with firm assurance he nosed his way into their sombre depths.
For two hours they threaded the forest, up the long, winding valley, when at length a log cabin burst suddenly into view. It was small, low, and evidently had been built for some time. A stream of smoke, curling into the frosty air, betokened life within. Around the building many tracks of animals were visible, while here and there human footprints could be discerned.
There was no window to the shack, and the door was small and low. At this he knocked, while the dog scratched in his eagerness to gain admittance. No sound coming from within, Keith cautiously opened the rough barrier and entered, the cur leaping in ahead. The room was quite light from a fire burning in a rude stone fire-place, before which crouched a weird form, with knees drawn up to the chin in Indian fashion. Hair, long and unkempt, fell down over his neck, and a beard, months old, was rough and straggling. The cheeks were hollow, and the weary, sunken eyes, turned toward the door, were filled with alarm. It was only the dog he saw, which had rushed forward, and was leaping around him in the wildest excitement, licking his hands and face with intense fondness.
The man, however, did not recognize the animal, but drawing his blanket more closely around his body, huddled down in a terrified manner.
"Back, back!" he moaned. "Don't come near! For God's sake, spare me! Don't touch me! Help! Father! Connie!"
The tears streamed down the poor creature's cheeks, as he crouched there on the floor, pleading with an imaginary foe. The scene was pitiable to behold, and Keith hastened to his side.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "The dog won't hurt you."
The man started and looked up in a dazed manner. Then he reached forward with his long, bony fingers.
"Save me!" he moaned. "Drive them away! They will kill me!"
"Why, there's nothing to harm you," Keith replied. "It's your own dog come back to you, and he's licking your hands and face in his delight."
A gleam of intelligence stole into the man's eyes, as he looked slowly around, somewhat relieved.
"My dog?" he continued. "Brisko? Not wolves?"
"No, not a wolf near. You are safe."
The man trembled. He caught Keith by the hand. He looked up into his face, and then, throwing his arms around the dog's neck, wept like a child.
"Safe, safe," he murmured. "Thank God! Oh, how they howled!" and a shudder shook his frame. "They tore at the roof; they scratched at the door. My God, it was awful! And to think that he left me to those devils!"
Then he leaned eagerly forward. "Did you see him? Did you meet him on the trail?"
"Meet whom?" demanded Keith, thinking the man was wandering in his mind.
"Bill; Bill, my partner."
"No, I have not met any one for days."
"Are you sure?" and the man crept near, and looked into the traveller's face in a beseeching manner. "Think hard. A man with a long beard, and the Devil's face."
"No, I tell you I have met no one. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, God, help me! You didn't see him, and he's got my gold! Yes, my gold," he cried, grinding his teeth in his rage. "Look, you. Listen. We were partners, Bill and I. We struck gold. To find it we struggled hard. We tore the flesh from our hands on the rocks. Our feet bled. We suffered hunger and cold; but we found it. It was awful, but we found it. The trail was long, but we didn't mind; we had the gold. The wind howled down the mountain passes. We slept in the snow. For days we had little to eat, but we laughed, and hugged our pokes of gold, and kissed them as a mother kisses her babes. The dogs died one by one, except the leader there, and we ate them raw, like the wolves, which followed us and howled at night. But we laughed like ghosts, always laughed, for the gold was safe. We reached this cabin. Here we stayed, for we could go no further. We watched the gold, counting it over and over. Then one day he left me—left me to die—and took my gold."
The man's rage was terrible. His sunken eyes shot fire. His emaciated frame quivered with the intensity of his emotion. He staggered to his feet. "I will find him!" he cried. "Let me go to him!" He tried to walk to the door, but in vain. With a cry he fell upon the hard floor, groped for an instant like a blind man, and then lay perfectly still.
The days that followed the man's collapse were fearful ones. Keith would not leave him in such a condition, and he fought a hard battle to save his life. With the aid of rabbits, a few ptarmigan, grouse, and the little food he had brought with him, he managed to exist. Twice he left the cabin and scoured the forest for moose or deer, but the animals had deserted the locality. The wolves surrounded the shack at night, uttering their dreary cries, but kept warily out of gun-shot.
At times the sick man moaned and raved pitifully. As Keith sat hour after hour by his side he tried to piece together something of his past life from the broken words which fell from his lips. Often it was of the trail, the gold, and Bill. But again he wandered to other scenes in which "Connie," "the violin," and various pieces of music played important parts.
"Connie. Connie," he would say, over and over again. "Where is my violin? Bring it to me."
At such moments his poor, gaunt fingers would search eagerly