But Miki was the true son of Hela, his giant Mackenzie hound father, and he would have continued until he triumphed--or died.
But a strange thing happened.

He had travelled twenty miles to the ridge, and fifteen of the twenty miles back, when a shelf of snow gave way under his feet and he was pitched suddenly downward.

When he gathered his dazed wits and stood up on his half frozen legs he found himself in a curious place.

He had rolled completely into a wigwam-shaped shelter of spruce boughs and sticks, and strong in his nostrils was the SMELL OF MEAT.

He found the meat not more than a foot from the end of his nose.