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64 Dick wondered idly what kind of land O'Hara was like to find where he was going. Would the vivid air bring the blood leaping from a man's heart along his veins there? Would there be a bullmoose like that one on horizon to strike a wonderful note of virility over this senseless snow that pushed itself against the pale blue of the sky? Would a trail like this of the Moon-Dance, kept hard by the passing of many Indians, lead O'Hara anywhere—anywhere at all? Dick yawned, and turned to torment de Choiseaux.

"I think that pony is going lame on the near fore," he said.

"Comment?" said de Choiseaux. Then he apologized and endeavoured to struggle down to Dick's level. He was struggling still when Dick sat upright with a sharp oath which cut de Choiseaux's efforts in half. O'Hara's shack lay on the snow like a boat in the trough of a wave; and, down the slope where a snake-fence was broken and tangled, an up-ended sled tilted athwart a dead horse. A trail wound from the sled to the shack; a wide smudged trail, dabbled here and there with blood; and, twisted through and through it like a thread, ran the coyote-spore which antedated the accident twenty hours back at least.

"But he brought himself in," said Dick. "Well—a man has to pay for his carelessness."

He followed his knock into the shack. But de Choiseaux shot past him, gripping his great black bag in both hands.

"Ah, mon brave," he began. "Eh! Get pauvre petit"

O'Hara moved, and unquenchable humour gleamed in his eye.

"Faith, Docthor, dear," he said. "’Twas main thoughtful ov ye tu bring me coffin wid ye."

Dick laughed, stooping over the bunk.

"You've got your wits, anyhow," he said. "How are you, O'Hara?"

"That's for him to tell," said O'Hara slowly. "I—dunno."

Instinct told Dick that he did. And then de Choiseaux went to work with the energy of a man chopping wood.