And again the dogs laid foot to the ground; and again the voice of Nick roused the hollow echoes of the shimmering peaks; again the song of the sled-runners rose and fell in cadence brisk and sharp on the still, cold air. But all the world was changed to the men. The stillness was only the stillness which appeals to the physical senses. There was a sensation of life in the air; a feeling of living surroundings; a certain knowledge that they were no longer alone in their valley. A woman was present; the woman.
The widening break of the forest gave place to a broad sloping expanse of snow-land. It was the hill down which they had travelled many thousands of times. Above, more snow-laden forest, and above that the steel of the glacier which rose till its awful limits plunged into the grey world of cloud. The dugout was not yet in view; there was a scored and riven crag, black and barren, impervious to the soft caresses of velvety snow, to be passed ere the home which was theirs would be sighted. Besides, as yet neither of the men had turned their eyes from the trailing footprints to look ahead. Thus they came to the higher ground.
Now the barren crag seemed to thrust itself out, an impassable barrier; a mute protest at further progress; a grim, silent warning that the home beyond was no longer for them, no longer the home they had always known. And the hard-breathing dogs toiled on, straining at their breast-harness, with bodies heaving forward, heads bent low, and quarters drooped to give them surer purchase. They, too, as though by instinct, followed the footprints. As the marks swung out to pass the jutting cliff the lead-dog followed their course; Nick, on the right of them, moved wide, and craned to obtain a first view of the hut. Suddenly he gave a great shout. The dogs dropped in their harness and crouched, snarling and snapping, their jaws clipping together with the sound of castanets, whilst their wiry manes rose upon their shoulders bristling with ferocity which had in it something of fear. Ralph reached his brother’s side and peered beyond the cliff.
And as he looked his breath suddenly ceased, and one hand clutched his brother’s arm with a force that bruised the softer flesh, and in silence the two men gaped at the vision which they beheld. There was what seemed an endless pause while the men and dogs alike focused their gaze upon the strange apparition.
A figure, calm, serene, stood before the door of the dugout, from which the logs had been removed. Like a sentry “at ease” the figure stood resting gracefully, leaning upon the muzzle of a long rifle. Fur crowned the head which was nobly poised, and a framing of flowing dark hair showed off to perfection the marble-like whiteness of the calm, beautiful face. The robes were characteristic of the Northern Indians; beads, buckskin and fur. A tunic reached to the knees, and below that appeared “chaps,” which ended where woollen stockings surmounted moosehide moccasins.
A wild, picturesque figure was this creature of the mountain solitude; and, to the wondering eyes of the two men, something which filled them with superstitious awe and a primitive gladness that was almost overpowering. The dogs alone seemed to resent the intrusion. There was no joy in their attitude which was one of angry protest.
Nick broke the silence.
“White–white,” he murmured, without knowledge that he spoke aloud.
Ralph’s face was working. His excitement, slow to rise, now overwhelmed him, and he answered in a similar tone.
“That hair,” he muttered. “Dark, dark; an’ them chaps wi’ beads of Injun patte’n. An’ the muzzle-loadin’ weapin.”