men and dogs that they dragged themselves with difficulty through the soft snow to the shore.
"It's all up, Mac!" groaned the older man; "we've got to kill one of the dogs and rest up and get our strength. To-night it'll go fifty below. We must eat or freeze."
The younger man, too exhausted to answer, stumbled on through the new snow, followed by the team. Twice that day he had fallen and failed to rise, begging the other to go on and leave him. Twice that day John Bolton had dragged him to his snow-shoes again and forced him on by sheer will, but the boy had now come to the end of his strength, and that night the cruel cold would cut into their very marrow.
Back in the forest near the shore they found a protected spot, made camp as best they could, and started a fire. Then Bolton took his rifle from its case and shot the weakest of the exhausted huskies. The explosion of the gun echoed loudly from the near hills.
The men had started to skin the dog when a rifle-shot from the lake shattered the freezing air.
The men looked into each other's faces.
"Some one heard our shot," mumbled Bolton. "I'll fire again."
Again came an answering shot. Then both men dragged themselves to the shore. Coming up the lake was a dog-team. Bolton went out on the ice and waved his arms.
In a few minutes a tall dog-runner in caribou-skin capote belted with a red Company sash, leading a team of northern huskies, approached them.
