nearer now, and Marion shuddered with apprehension. Even Zell’s face expressed her concern. From a pocket in her dress she brought forth a revolver, and examined it carefully. Marion had no idea that the girl carried such a weapon, and it surprised her.
“Do you often have use for that?” she asked.
“It is handy sometimes,” was the reply. “One never knows what might happen. There are two-legged wolves in this country, and I fear them more than I do the four-legged ones. A girl has to protect herself, you know.”
Marion was beginning to realize something of the undercurrent of life in the North. Hitherto, she had known only the surface. There were deeps which she had not sounded, but of which her companion seemed fully aware. She said nothing, however, but assisted in building the little lean-to which would be their abode for the night. When this had been erected, fir boughs laid down, and the blankets and the wolf-skin robe laid out, she was glad to rest. No longer did the howl of the wolves sound upon their ears. The fire was bright, and the snug abode comfortable.
After they had eaten their supper and the dogs were fed, they wrapped themselves up for the night. Both were tired, so it was not long before they were sound asleep. The dogs curled themselves up near the fire and enjoyed the genial heat. Silence reigned, save for the crackling of the burning sticks, or the occasional snapping of a frost-stung tree. The night was cold, although not a breath of wind stirred the trees. The great vault of heaven was thickly studded with stars, for the moon had not risen to pale their glory. The Northern Lights sent out their wavering streamers as
