"Sternford?" he ejaculated
Gouter was on him in a moment. He heard the tone of voice, and interpreted the man's movement in his own savage fashion. He knew the man to be the driver of the team, whom his boss had told him was his man. So he threw him back and held him.
Bull stood up. The man's voice told him all he wanted to know.
"Laval, eh?" he said quietly. "A second time. I didn't expect it. No."
Then he laughed and turned away. And the sound of his laugh possessed something terribly mocking in the night silence of the wilderness.
He passed back to the sled. There had been two men in it. He had seen that for himself.
The wreckage looked hopeless. The sled was completely overturned and its gleaming runners caught and reflected the white rays of the moon. It had been thrown by reason of the fallen bodies of the dogs which lay under it, pinned by its weight, and additionally held fast by their own tangled harness.
Bull had no thought for anything but the purpose in his mind. So he reached out and caught the steel runners in his mitted hands and flung the vehicle aside.
Yes, it was there in the midst of a confusion of baggage and lying cheek by jowl with the mangled remains of the dogs. He cleared the debris, and dragged the dogs aside. Then he stood and gazed down at the figure that remained.
It was clad in a voluminous beaver coat. It was hooded, as was every man who faced the fierce Labrador trail. But—