The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1933-03-03

tranl"
Ruthless as starved wolf on carl
bou track, stopping only to eat, all
that day down the winding Winisk Jim
held to the sled-trail in the snow. At
last the gallant dogs, who for twenty
| hours had driven their iron thews TO
his call. faltered.
"Marche, Wolf!" YEARLY protested
| the hoarse voice of the man who, to
| tighten the load for his spent dogs,
for hours had swung head down, at the
tail of the sled. AT the call the gallant
lead-dog lifted his lolling head, and
| lurched forward in the traces; but the
team behind were done. and. making
no response, hitched along at slow
walk.
Its no usel We're through J"
| groaned the man who had driven him.
self to the end of his strength, in his
| ears the voice of Aurore ever calling
him on, on over the endless snow.
The swift December night was close.
and as the team crawled behind him,
Jim staggered ahead, searching for a
place to camp. Shortly the trail he fol-
lowed swung in to the shore.
Their campw
Spurred by the thought of what the
snow would reveal, the excited man
| followed the trail into the timber.
In seconds he would know-know If
| she lived! There might be message
a sign that she still hoped. hoped for
the help that her eyes had strained
| for in vain.
There in the thick spruce ahead was
| the fire-hole, with the dead embers-
| the beaten snow Of the camp. With
pounding heart he reached the spot
trampled by the dogs and a mans
mOccasins.
"She's aliveI She's with him!" Be-
| fore him in the snow were the imprints
of small feet.
Frantically he searched the camp.
site for some evidence that she had not
despaired-some sign to the speeding
dog-teams on the trail of Paradis.
And at last, in small cedar he found
scrap of birch-bark.
On it was traced with charred
stick: Dogs gonel Come quick! A."
"She knows we're behind her-knows
we're coming, Wolff" Jim shouted to
the dogs who had brought the sled in
and lay painting on the snow. "His
teams done for! Well get him tomor-
row, you cripples! A big feed and
sleep tonight. Tomorrow We'll burn
up the traill'
Later, as the muffled body Of Jim
Stuart lay in the sleep hole beside the
flaming birch logs, and near him, noses
buried In thick tails. curled his trail
beaten team. deep in the sleep of utter
exhaustion. the spruces above them
fretted with the rising wind. And be-
fore dawn, the first north-wester from
the icefelds Of the bay was shrieking
up the valley Of the Winisk.
The man who walked. and stirred his
stiffened legs to rise and freshen the
fire for his breakfast kettle, found the
camp buried in drift as the slant of
the blizzard flayed the rocking spruces.
For space Jim lay in his blankets
while tears of weakness and shattered
hope slowly froze on his uncovered
face.
"I'd have reached them today
They're not far ahead, ten-ffteen
miles," he groaned. 'But the dogs
won't face this long"
Eating his breakfast, he harnessed
the dogs, reluctant to leave their sleep
ing holes In the snow, secure from the
drive of the wind which roared past.
up the river.
''Marche, WolfI' Jim snapped his
whip beside the ears of the gaunt
leader, and man and dogs plunged
with lowered heads into the white
smother.
On they went while the wind
strengthened, sweeping the snow be-
fore it in swirls which sucked their
breath, binding their eyes, heaping
drifts high on the river trail which
Jim foundered through. leading his
team of snow-sheathed wraiths by a
thong. AS he fought his way yard by
yard. his numbing face and fingers
warned him of the slowly increasing
cold. Stin he battled on; the pin
pointed scourge of snow crystals sting
ing his cracked cheeks like shot, cak-
ing his stubble of beard and eye
brows with ice. Often, breath whipped
from their nostrils by white mael-
strom, man and dogs lay down, backs
to the toothed fury. Then, above the
beat Of the wind, the voice of Aurore
would call. and wiping the ice from
the battered noses of his blinded hus-
kies, Jim would again force them to
their feet and plunge head down into
the storm.
So they went through the morning.
but at last, the tortured dogs refused
longer to face the pitiless barrage
which smeared their muzzles with
frozen blood. Turning in their traces.
they lay down, backs to the knife
edged drive Of the wind, while the
snow drifted over them.
Kneeling beside his gaunt lead-dog.
Jim dropped his mittens and rubbed
with his stiffening fingers the Grim
soned snow from the hairy nose. free
ing the slant eyes.
you've worked yourself to the
bone, boy. I'll never forget!" he
painted. The inf1amed eyes Of the
leader squinted painfully at the hood
ed face beside his. as his red tongue
answered.
He was miles nearer his man, for in
that storm the weakened dogs of Para
dis would anchor him to his camp.
but Jim led his team into the wind
break of the timber with heart sore
with his failure. She was doomed to
another night with the torture of its
doubt and fear before the galIoping
dogs of the man who loved her reached