banish. It was with her all through the short winter day. She tried to throw it off by running with Zell behind the sled. This helped some, but the feeling still remained.
It was a bright day, and the dogs made excellent progress. They loped forward, anxious for camping time when they would receive their food. Marion was fascinated with the scenery of the country. Off in the distance rose great snow-enshrouded mountains, aglow with the light of the sun. Above, towered the dazzling peak of the Golden Horn, which seemed so near, yet she knew it was leagues away. At times the trail led along the side of the mountain where they could look down upon the pointed tops of the trees in the valley below, resembling countless spears poised heavenward.
Only once did they halt to rest, eat a frugal meal, and then on and up again. Marion was becoming weary, although Zell seemed as fresh as ever. Slowly the sun sank westward, and at length disappeared below a far-off peak. Ere long darkness stole over the land, and night approached with rapid strides. Soon it would be camping time, and Zell was watching for a good place to pass the night when a sound fell upon their ears, which caused Marion to give a gasp of fright, and turn impulsively to her companion.
“What is that?” she asked, her body trembling.
“A wolf,” was the quiet reply. “We must make camp at once, and build a big fire. Ah, here is a good place with plenty of wood.”
In a few minutes the dogs were unharnessed, the fire built, and the blazing flames leaping high into the air.
From time to time came that long-drawn, blood-curdling howl, the cry of the leader to the pack. It seemed
