"Oop on de head Coal Creek, two men, dey hunt de moose for sell."
"Poachers, eh!"
The man nodded and with his lips close to the boy's ear whispered: "Wan man you know—mebbe-so she gone kultus."
"A man I know gone kultus!" exclaimed Connie. "What do you mean? Who is he?" But the other only shrugged, and shifting his pack, stepped into the trail and swung off toward Dawson.
"Now what in thunder does that breed mean?" soliloquized the boy as the dogs strung out onto the trail. "One of those poachers is Brek Wiley all right, he's an old hand at the game and a mighty slippery customer—Big Dan McKeever has tried for years to catch him with the goods. But who is the other one—the man that's gone kultus? Tim didn't mean Brek Wiley—he always was kultus. Guess I'll just swing over onto the head of Coal Creek and see what's doing." Suddenly the boy stopped dead in his tracks: "Gee Whiz!" he exclaimed aloud, "I forgot I'm no longer in the Service!" He ran to catch up with the dogs. "I could turn the job over to Ewing at Fortymile," he muttered as he mushed northward; "but, some-
