When he trudged back into the snow, knee-deep now, he sought Mukee, the
half-breed. Mukee had suffered a lynx bite that went deep into the bone,
and Cummins' wife had saved his hand. After that the savage in him was
enslaved to her like an invisible spirit, and when Jan slipped on his
snowshoes to set out into the deadly chaos of the "Beeg Storm" Mukee was
ready to follow. A trail through the spruce forest led them to the lake
across which Jan knew that Cummins had intended to go. Beyond that, a
matter of six miles or so, there was a deep and lonely break between two
mountainous ridges in which Cummins believed he might find lynx. Indian
instinct guided the two across the lake. There they separated, Jan going
as nearly as he could guess into the northwest, Mukee trailing swiftly
and hopelessly into the south, both inspired in the face of death by the
thought of a woman with sunny hair, and with lips and eyes that had sent
many a shaft of hope and gladness into their desolate hearts.
It was no great sacrifice for Jan, this struggle with the "Beeg Snows"
for the woman's sake. What it was to Mukee, the half-Cree, no man ever
guessed or knew, for it was not until the late spring snows had gone that
they found what the foxes and the wolves had left of him, far to the
south.
A hand, soft and gentle, guided Jan. He felt the warmth of it and the
thrill of it, and neither the warmth nor the thrill grew less as the
hours passed and the snow fell deeper.
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