"I'll make one more try," said Emerson, between his teeth, gratingly, as
they swung out into the darkness a second time. "If that doesn't succeed,
then I'll take possession again. I won't be passed on all night this way."

"The 'buck' will certainly show us to the straw," said "Fingerless"
Fraser.

"The what?"

"The 'buck'--the sky-dog--oh, the priest!"

But when, a mile farther on, they drew up before a white pile surmounted
by a dimly discerned Greek cross, no sign of life was to be seen, and
their signals awakened no response.

"Gone!--and they knew it."

The vicious manner in which Emerson handled his whip as he said the words
betrayed his state of mind. Three weeks of unvarying hardship and toilsome
travel had worn out both men, and rendered them well-nigh desperate. Hence
they wasted no words when, for the fourth time, their eyes caught the
welcome sight of a shining radiance in the gloom of the gathering night.
The trail-weary team stopped of its own accord.

"Unhitch!" ordered Emerson, doggedly, as he began to untie the ropes of
the sled. He shouldered the sleeping-bags, and made toward the light that
filtered through the crusted windows, followed by Fraser similarly
burdened. But as they approached they saw at once that this was no
cannery; it looked more like a road-house or trading-post, for the
structure was low and it was built of logs. Behind and connected with it