For many minutes he groped his way through the blinding snow, his mind completely given up to the things his secret watch had revealed.  His brutish nature, being what it was, left him concerned only for the forceful manner by which he could restore that authority which he felt to be slipping away from him under the curious change which had come over the camp.  His position depended on the adequate output of his winter’s cut and on nothing else.  That, he knew, was desperately falling, and—­

But in a moment, all concern was swept from his mind.  A sound leapt at him out of the stillness of the night.  It was the whimper of dogs and the sharp command of a man’s voice.  He shouted a challenge and waited.  And presently a dog train pulled up beside him.

* * * * *

Bull Sternford was standing before the wood stove in the camp-boss’s shanty.  He had removed his snow-laden fur coat.  He had kicked the damp snow from his moccasins.  Now he was wiping the moisture out of his eyes, and the chill in his limbs was easing under the warmth which the stove radiated.

Ole Porson’s grim face was alight with a smile of genuine welcome, as he stood surveying his visitor across the roaring stove.

“It’s surely the best thing happened in years, Mr. Sternford,” he was saying.  “I’m more glad you made our camp this night than any other.  Maybe I’d ha’ got through someways, but I don’t know just how.  We’re down over fifty on our cut, an’, by the holy snakes, I can’t hand you why.”

Bull put his coloured handkerchief away, and removed the pea-jacket which he had worn under his furs.

“Don’t worry,” he said with apparent unconcern.  “I can hand it you.  That’s why I’m here.”

The camp-boss waited.  He eyed his chief with no little anxiety.  He had looked for an angry outburst.

Bull pulled up a chair.  He flung the litter of books it supported on to the already crowded table and sat down.  Then he filled his pipe and lit it with a hot coal from the stove.

“Here,” he said, “I’ll tell you.  I’ve been the round of four camps.  I’ve been over a month on the trail, and I’ve heard just the same tale from every camp-boss we employ.  I’ve three more camps to visit besides yours, and when I’ve made them maybe I’ll get the sleep I’m about crazy for.  Night and day I’ve been on the dead jump for a month following the trail of a red-hot gang that’s going through our forests.  If I come up with them there’s going to be murder.”

He spoke quietly without a sign of emotion.  But the light in his hot eyes was almost desperate.

“I want to hand you the story so you’ll get it all clear,” he went on after a moment.  “So I’ll start by telling you how we stand at the mill.  Get this, an’ hold it tight in your head, and the rest’ll come clear as day.  Sachigo’s right on top.  We’ve boosted it sky high on to the top of the world’s pulp trade.  In less than twelve months we’ll