accord, surged toward the remaining man, he, too, stood not upon the order of his going, but leaped far out into the icy waters to escape the death of the flashing fangs. A few moments later, two dripping black objects crawled painfully onto a huge cake of drifting ice which swept on past the Dawson landing.
The rotten bark canoe was forced shoreward and three very stiff and very weary travellers stepped out upon firm ground, and as they stretched their aching muscles they glanced down the river where, a half-mile away, floated a scow full of angry malamutes, and two dejected-looking figures upon a cake of ice.
Connie Morgan and big Sergeant Dan McKeever turned from the recorder’s office and proceeded to the headquarters of B Division of the Royal North-west Mounted Police. In a terse, one-hundred word epic, Sergeant McKeever turned in the report of his long patrol. Ten minutes later, a swift motor-boat manned by two constables of the Mounted, swept out into the river and headed down stream, while Sergeant McKeever sought an interview with the Superintendent.
As the Sergeant advanced with military preci-
