When Stane set his face to the storm he knew there was a difficult task before him, and he found it even more difficult than he had anticipated. The wind, bitingly cold, drove the snow before it in an almost solid wall. The wood sheltered him somewhat; but fearful of losing himself, and so missing what he was seeking, he dared not turn far into it, and was forced to follow the edge of it, that he might not wander from the lake. Time after time he was compelled to halt in the lee of the deadfalls, or shelter behind a tree with his back to the storm, whilst he recovered breath. He could see scarcely a yard before him, and more than once he was driven to from the straight course, and leave the trees in order to assure himself that he had not wandered from the lake side.  
The bitter cold his brain; the driving snow was confusing, and before he reached his objective he had only one thing clear in his mind. though it was, he must keep his face to the wind, then he could not go wrong, for the storm, down the lake, came in a direct line from the in the shadow of which the tragedy which he had witnessed, had happened. As he progressed, slowly, utter seemed to overtake him. Bending his head to the blast he swayed like a drunken man. More than once as he stumbled over fallen trees the impulse to sit and rest almost overcame him; but knowing the danger of such a course he forced himself to refrain. Once as he halted in the shelter of a giant fir, his back resting against the trunk, he was conscious of a deadly, delicious creeping through his frame, and knowing it for the beginning of the snow-sleep which overtakes men in such circumstances, he lurched forward again, though he had not recovered breath.
 
He came to a sudden descent in the trail that he was following. It was made by a small stream that in spring flooded down to the lake but which now was frozen solid. In the blinding snow-wrack he never even saw it, and stepping on air, he hurtled down the bank, and rolled in a confused heap in the deep snow at the bottom. For a full minute he lay there, out of the wind and biting snow-hail, feeling like a man who has stumbled out of bitter cold to a soft couch in a warm room. A sense of utter contentment stole upon him. For some moments he lost all his grip on realities; time and circumstances and the object of his quest were forgotten. Visions, but very vivid, crowded upon him, and among them, one of a girl whom he had kissed in the face of death. That girl—Yes, there was something. His mind asserted itself again, his purpose dominated his wavering , and he staggered to his feet.
 
"Helen!" he muttered. "Helen!"
 
He faced the bank of the stream on the other side from that which had caused his downfall. Then he paused. There was something—twenty seconds passed before he remembered. His rifle! It was somewhere in the snow, he must find it, for he might yet have need of it. He groped about, and presently recovered it; then after considering for a moment, instead of to the level, he began to walk downstream, sheltered by the high banks. It was not so cold in the hollow, and though a of sand-like particles of snow blew at the level of his head, by stooping he was able to escape the worst of it. His numbed faculties began to assert themselves again. The struggle through the deep soft snow, out of reach of the wind's bitter breath, sent a glow through him. His brain began to work . He could not be far from the bluff now, and the stream would lead him to the lake. How much time he had lost he did not know, and he was in a sweat of fear lest he should be too late after all. As he struggled on, he did not even wonder what was the meaning of the attack that he had witnessed; one thing only was before his eyes, the vision of the girl he loved helpless in the face of unknown dangers.
 
The banks of the stream lowered and opened suddenly. The force of the blast struck him, the snow him, and for a moment he stood held in his tracks, then the wind momentarily slackened, and dimly through the driving snow he caught sight of something that shadowlike before him. It was the bluff that he was seeking, and as he moved towards it, the wind broken, grew less , though a steady stream of fine hard snow swept down upon him from its height. The snow blanketed everything, and he could see nothing; then he heard a dog and stumbled forward in the direction of the sound. A minute later, in the shelter of some high rocks, he saw a camp-fire, beside which a team of dogs in harness in the snow, anchored there by the sled turned on its side, and by the fire a man and stared into the snow-wrack. As he visioned them, Stane slipped the rifle from the hollow of his arm, and staggered forward like a drunken man.
 
The man by the fire becoming aware of him leaped suddenly to his feet. In a twinkling his rifle was at his shoulder, and through the wild canorous note of the wind, Stane caught his hail. "Hands up! You murderer!"
 
Something in the voice struck reminiscently on his ears, and this, as he recognized instantly, was not the hail of a man who had just committed a terrible crime. He dropped his rifle and put up his hands. The man changed his rifle swiftly for a pistol, and began to advance. Two yards away he stopped.
 
"Stane! by—!"
 
Then Stane recognized him. It was Dandy Anderton, the mounted policeman, and in the relief of the moment he laughed suddenly.
 
"You, Dandy?"
 
"Yes! What in heaven's name is the meaning of it all? Did you see anything? Hear the firing? There are two dead men out there in the snow." He jerked his head towards the lake. "And there was a dog-team, but I lost it in the storm. Do you know anything about it, Stane? I hope that you had no hand in this ?"
 
The questions came tumbling over each other all in one breath, and as they finished, Stane, still a little breathless, replied:
 
"No, I had no hand in that killing. I don't understand it at all, but that , we must find it, for to the best of my belief, Miss Yardely is on it."
 
"Miss Yardely! What on earth——"
 
"It is a long story. I haven't time to explain. We were attacked and she was carried off. Come along, Dandy, and help me to find her."
 
The policeman shook his head and to the whirling snow. "No use, old man, we couldn't find a mountain in that stuff, and we should be mad to try. We don't know which way to look for her, and we should only lose ourselves and die in the cold."
 
"But, man, I tell you that Helen——"
 
"Helen is in the hands of the good God for the present, my friend. I did not know she was with that sledge, and though I had only a glimpse of it, I will swear that the sledge was empty."
 
"There were two men ran out after the firing," cried Stane. "I saw them just before the snow came. They were making for the sledge. Perhaps they took Helen——"
 
"Sit down, Stane, and give me the facts. It's no good thinking of going out in that smother. A man might as well stand on Mount Robson and jump for the moon! Sit down and make me wise on the business, then if the storm slackens we can get busy."
 
Stane looked into the smother in front, and reason asserted itself. It was quite true what Anderton said. Nothing whatever could be done for the present; the storm effectually prevented action. To venture from the shelter of the bluff on to the open width of the lake was to be lost, and to be lost in such circumstances meant death from cold. Fiercely as burned the desire to be doing on behalf of his beloved, he was forced to recognize the utter of attempting anything for the moment. With a gesture of despair, he swept the snow from a convenient log, and seated himself heavily upon it.
 
The policeman stretched a hand towards a heap of smouldering ashes, where a pan, and pouring some boiling coffee into a tin cup, handed it to Stane.
 
"Drink that, Hubert, old man, it'll you up. Then you can give me the of this business."
 
Stane began to the coffee, and between the heat of the fire and that of the coffee, his blood began to course more freely. All the passed from his brain and with it passed the sense of despair that had been expressed in his gesture, and a sudden hope came to him.
 
"One thing," he broke out, "if we can't travel, neither can anybody else."
 
"Not far—at any rate," agreed Anderton. "A man might put his back to the storm, but he would soon be jiggered; or he might take to the deep woods; but with a dog-team he wouldn't go far or fast, unless there was a proper trail."
 
"That's where they'll make for, as like as not," said Stane with another stab of despair.
 
"They—who? Tell me, man, and never bother about the woods. There's a good two hundred miles of them hereabouts and till we can begin to look for the trail it is no good worrying. Who are these men——"
 
"I can't say," answered Stane, "but I'll tell you what I know."
 
and he the events that had befallen since the policeman's departure from Chief George's camp on the trail of Chigmok. Anderton listened carefully. Twice he interrupted. The first time was when he heard how the man whom he sought had been at Chief George's camp after all.
 
"I guessed that," he commented, "after I started on the trail to the Barrens, particularly when I found no signs of any camping place on what is the natural road for any one making that way. I swung back yesterday meaning to s............