George Tracy Marsh

“ But the dog, bent on arousing the master, grew only the more insistent, seizing his arm in her jaws. As he sat upright, wide awake, Fleur sniffed long at the frosty air, then dashed yelping into the dusk up the trail toward the barren. ”

“ W’at you smell, Fleur?” cried Marcel, tearing his rifle with shaking hands from its skin case and cramming cartridges into a pocket. Could it be the deer at last? Only a starving wolf or lynx, prowling near the camp, likely. Still he would go! The love of life was yet strong in Jean Marcel now that a gleam of hope warmed his heart.
Slipping his toes into the thongs of his snowshoes, he made Fleur fast to a tree, and started. He was so weak from lack of food that often he was forced to stop in the climb, shaken by his hammering heart. ”