"I knew he would if he saw us. He's never carried a bucket uphill yet without help. See, there are the Kid's tracks going. We must find some turned the other way."
They were near the Little Cabin now.
"Here!" shouted the Boy; "and ... yes, here again!" And so it was. Clean and neatly printed in the last light snowfall showed the little footprints. "We're on the right trail now. Kaviak!"
Through his parki the Boy felt a hand close vise-like on his shoulder, and a voice, not like MacCann's:
"Goin' straight down to the fish-trap hole!"
The two dashed forward, down the steep hill, the Boy saying breathless as they went: "And Potts—where's Potts?"
He had vanished, but there was no time to consider how or where.
"Kaviak!"
"Kaviak!" And as they got to the river:
"Think I hear—"