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The Trail of the Golden Horn

nothing here. We might get a few rabbits or ptarmigan. Now, if I had my rifle, I might get a moose, for they’re quite thick down there in the valley along that wild meadow. But what can one do with a revolver, for that’s all I have left.”

“Same here,” North replied. “I was afraid I had lost mine but it’s all right. Now, look, something’s got to be done at once if we’re going to have any breakfast. You stay here with Marion and keep the fire going. I’m anxious to see what pranks that snow-slide has cut up where it stopped. I have heard men tell queer stories about such things, but always believed they were lying. I hope to goodness they weren’t.”

“Will you be gone long, John?” Marion anxiously asked. “Don’t run any risk.”

“There is no danger,” North assured. “It should not take me many minutes. I hope to get something for breakfast.”

The sergeant made his way to the great scar caused by the snow-slide, and found easy walking here. It did not take him long to descend the steep hill, the big moon making the night almost as bright as day. He was astonished at the havoc which had been wrought by the descending monster. Large trees had been snapped like pipe stems before the terrific impact of thousands of tons of snow and ice, and hurled in a confused and gigantic mass down into the valley. He followed the course until he came to the level where the avalanche had been stayed. When he could proceed no farther on the clean-swept way, he plunged into the snow to the right and began to circle the heaped-up mass. He kept a sharp look-out, hoping to find some portion of the camping outfit. But nothing could he