The idiots have scared the herd with their infernal racket, an' no meat will they get.

The caribou will keep to the ice, an' man or Indian can't stalk them there." For a few moments his companion surveyed the lake and shore with a plainsman's eye, then dashed within, to reappear with a Winchester in each hand.

Through the crowd of bewailing, bemoaning Indians; he sped, to the low, dying bank.

The hard crust of snow upheld him.

The gray cloud was a thousand yards out upon the lake and moving southeast.