"Where are the dogs?" he asked. "They're very quiet."
"I leaf zem la bas," said Emile, waving his hand towards a neighbouring hollow. Then moving a few paces forward he exclaimed: "Ah! les coquins!"
"Looks as if they'd bolted," Walthew remarked. "I think I know where to find them."
He left the camp with Emile and presently the others heard the half-breed threatening the dogs; then Walthew's voice reached them and there was a hoarse and urgent tone in it. Springing up, they ran back along the trail and found Emile keeping off the dogs while Walthew bent over a dark object that lay half revealed in the clawed up snow. At first Harding saw only a patch or two of ragged fur that looked as if it belonged to an animal; then with a shock he caught the outline of a man's shoulder and arm. The rest of the party gathered round, breathless after their haste, and when Lane spoke there was grave authority in his voice.
"Give me a hand, boys. We have to get him out."
They did so with mingled compassion and reluctance, though Harding was sensible of a curious strained expectation, and soon the body lay clear of the snow. The dim light fell on the frozen face and Blake started.
"It's Clarke!" he cried.
"Sure," said Harding gravely. "I'm not surprised."
"Then you knew him?" Lane's tone was sharp.
"Yes," Benson interposed, "I knew him pretty well. He lived at Sweetwater, where we're going. I can give you any particulars you want."