A deeper drift than usual halted the party till Paul should break a way for the bleeding feet of the dogs. At the pause the dogs fell prone in the snow, panting and whimpering. The boy at the rear of the toboggan dropped upon his knees and fell huddled on his face. Looking back, Paul saw him thus huddled in the snow. With a loud harsh cry he staggered back, seized the boy by the neck and shoulder, shook him with savage fury, cuffed him, kicked him up onto his legs. Peter stood swaying on his feet, looked about him with a dazed, sickly grin upon his face. “What’s the matter? Was I asleep long?” he asked thickly. “Asleep long? Asleep long? You blasted idiot! Don’t you know what sleep means on this trail? Nice man you are on a job like this!” Slowly into the dark face of the boy the red blood came up, then, ebbing, left it grey. “All right, Chief,” he muttered, “I sleep no more.” “Listen to me, Peter. If you ever drop again I’ll cut you to pieces with your dog whip.” Peter gazed, dumb and shuddering, at his chief, as he called him; not that he feared the whip, but because in all his life he had never heard Paul speak to him in such a tone. “We are going through, and no one must drop or stop. We must get through! We must get through! And, by the Eternal God,” he lifted his clenched fists toward the hard, pitiless blue sky, “we will go through!” At the terrible furious voice the little girl began to cry. Paul glared at her a moment or two. Never in his life had he been so near breaking. “Stop it!” he snarled, baring his teeth like a dog. “Yes, Paul, I’ll stop,” said the child, her quivering lips setting in a firm line. His eyes softened as he looked upon her. “All right, Tanna. _You_ won’t quit,” he said. Once more, under the emphasis, the red flushed up in the face of the boy. “Who’s a-quittin’?” he said angrily. “Get your dogs going,” replied Paul, picking up his line. But neither commands nor lashings could move the leader from the snowdrift where he lay. With a low exclamation of fury Paul stepped to the toboggan. “We can’t fool with you,” he said, fumbling among the camp stuff. “What is it?” cried the girl. “Which dog?” “Lynx,” said the boy in a low voice. With a little cry, “Paul, don’t!” she sprang forward, stumbled over the toboggan, scrambled to her feet, felt her way over the dog team till she came to the leader, then kneeling down beside him she put her arms round the grizzled husky. “Oh, Lynx,” she murmured in his ear, “good Lynx, dear Lynx, try once more, Lynx.” The dog whined, licked the face bending over him, struggled to his feet. “He will go now, Paul,” she said eagerly. “He will try again. See!” She caught the dog by the collar. “Come on, Lynx. Come, Bliz. Come, good dogs. Hup! hup! mush! mush!” The three dogs strained on their collars, swaying on the traces, a shout, a plunge, and the toboggan stood free from the drift. Paul replaced the axe in the camp kit.