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Connie Morgan with the Mounted

and then fall in the snow. White froth foamed from its lips, and even as the boy looked the dog writhed in a sudden convulsion. Then with stiffened limbs, it shuddered, and lay dead in the snow at his feet. In the open another tawny shape lay rigid and frozen, and beyond a little hummock the other two huddled together—dead, their back-curled lips sealed with frozen foam.

"Poisoned!"

The single word fairly hissed from the boy's lips, and turning, he dashed toward camp where, after satisfying himself that the remaining six dogs showed no traces of illness, he began feverishly to pack the sled.

"They're the best dogs in the Yukon," he choked, striving vainly to swallow the great lump that rose in his throat. "You just wait! You just wait!" he sobbed, shaking his fist toward the east, where the grey dawn was beginning to lighten the far horizon. He did not return the carbine case to its straps, but harnessing his dogs, threw himself upon his sled with the carbine lying conveniently beneath his legs.

For two hours the tireless leader held to the trail that bore to the eastward, while Connie with set