assistance. Should anything happen to him, then Marion and the constable would both perish.
For some time he had been anxiously watching the sky, which was a dull leaden color. He knew that a storm was not far away, and already the wind was wailing among the trees. He hoped to outrace it, and if he could cross a bad desolate tract of burnt land which he knew was ahead before the tempest burst, he would feel quite secure. A storm in the mountains was a thing to be dreaded. The weather had been fine of late, exceptionally so, but he knew that it could not continue. The storm was overdue, and when it did come, it was likely to be a most furious one.
Ere long fine particles of snow filled the air, and flecked his body. They soon grew thicker, and by the time he had reached the edge of the burnt region the storm was most menacing. He looked anxiously out into the open where the snow, driven by the now unimpeded wind, resembled the levelled lances of thousands of mystic legions of the north. To go back he must not. His only course was forward, with the hope that he might reach the opposite side before the trail became completely obliterated.
Removing a mass of snow from his snow-shoes, and drawing his cap more firmly about his face, North left the shelter of the forest and plunged out into the driving storm. With head bent, and eyes fixed upon the rapidly disappearing trail, he pressed steadily forward. It was a hard struggle, and the cold was intense, piercing his body. At length his progress became slower. His feet would slip provokingly off the snow-shoes, and at times he found himself floundering around in the deep snow, and only regaining the trail with considerable difficulty. Often, too, he was forced to pause
