“I mean that we held miner’s meetin’ on him Chris’mus night an’ warned him out of the Koyukuk country, an’ next day we held another an’ sort of widened the territory, you might say, to include the rest of the world.” “What’s he be’n doin’ up river?” For answer Enright gave a brief, but comprehensive, survey of the situation to date, at the conclusion of which the trader picked up his book and opening it, drew a line around the list of Dalzene’s supplies. Below the entry, and included within the line, he wrote “Lost in freightin’.” Then, to Enright he said: “I’ll pass the word to the boys, Peter. Chances is, you up-river fellows won’t git no crack at him noways, ’count on him havin’ to pass here to git there--if he ever comes back.” “Where you headin’ now, Pete?” “Rampart City.” “Alone?” “Yeh, that is, I’ll be alone after Fort Gibbon. Joe, here, he’ll have to head north with the mail agin.” “You want to keep yer eyes open down to Rampart. Dalzene, he’s the only white man livin’ there now. ’Course them Yukon Injuns is plumb gentle an’ cowardly, but keep an eye on ’em. Dalzene he’s got too many wives amongst ’em fer to take no chances.” “Hell! They’d be glad to see him git what’s comin’ to him! I’ve heard tell how he abuses ’em. Treats ’em worse’n what he treats dogs, an’ then kicks ’em out an’ takes another one.” “Um-hum,” grunted the trader, “But that don’t give _you_ no license to horn in on it. Wimmin is all alike--white er red.” Late that afternoon the mail carrier halted the dogs and he and Enright stooped to examine a trail that led off the river to the eastward following the snow-buried course of a small creek. “Only five dogs an’ a toboggan,” said Enright, after an interval of careful scrutiny. “Some Siwash trapper, see his tracks. Dalzene had Yukon shoes. I seen ’em.” The mail carrier agreed and the outfit moved on down the river, and as they swept out of sight around a bend, Dalzene arose from the snow behind his screen of scrub bushes on the rim of a high bluff and removing the cartridge from the chamber of his rifle returned to his camp in a spruce thicket, and prepared for a two days’ rest. And a much needed rest it was, for almost from the moment of pulling out of Nolan, the man had been forcing the trail. And it was owing solely to the splendid condition of his seven great malamutes, just in from the fifty mile race, that he had been able to keep ahead of, and even to gain on his pursuers.