smokeless fire. "I've got to be mighty careful, too, 'cause they say Brek Wiley can pick up a trail like an Injun."
For three days Connie busied himself snaring rabbits and ptarmigans to eke out his slender larder and provide food for his dogs, and always he strained his ears for the sound of a shot that would disclose the whereabouts of the poachers.
The first day he surprised a moose at close range, and on the third day a huge bull and two cows crossed the divide a half-mile to the eastward and descended into the valley of Coal Creek.
"That ought to help 'em out," muttered Connie as he watched the huge animals disappear in the scrub.
An hour later, sharp and clear, from a point some two or three miles below where the moose had entered the timber, rang the sound of a shot swiftly followed by another, and after a short interval of silence four or five more in rapid succession.
"Three less moose and two less poachers in the Yukon," grinned the boy, as he slipped into the valley and hurried in the direction of the shots.
