father before him, he was answering
| the call of the gold" |
Frontispiece |
| |
| "Making sure that the boy slept, he began |
| silently to assemble his trail pack" |
42 |
| |
| "McDougall's prize malamutes shot out on the |
| trail" |
52 |
| |
| "When Connie opened his eyes, daylight had |
| vanished" |
67 |
| |
| "What could one small boy do in the face of |
| the ultimatum of these men of the North?" |
81 |
| |
| "My dad would have got out, and, you bet, |
| so will I!" |
103 |
| |
| "Now, what d' yo' think of that! I'd sho' hate |
| fo' this heah rope to break!" |
116 |
| |
| Connie Morgan "stared spellbound at the |
| terrible splendour of the changing lights" |
136 |
| |
| "Waseche Bill attacked the hard-packed snow |
| with his axe" |
149 |
| |
| "We'ah lost, kid. It's a cinch we cain't find |
| the divide" |
154 |
| |
| "The boy's lips moved in prayer, the only one |
| he had ever learned" |
166 |
| |
|
| "The two partners stared open-mouthed at the |
| apparition. The face was white!" |
183 |
| |
| "With a palsied arm he motioned to O'Brien, |
| who stepped before him" |
195 |
| |
| "The boy's fifteen-foot lash sang through the |
| thin air" |
216 |
| |
| "As they passed between the pillared rocks |
| the Indians broke cover, hurling their |
| copper-tipped harpoons as they ran" |
232 |
| |
| "You make me tired!" cried Connie. "Anybody'd |
| think you needed a city, with the |
| streets all numbered, to find your way |
| around" |
237 |
| |
| "Without waiting for a reply, Connie slipped |
| softly over the edge" |
262 |
| |
| "Recklessly O'Brien rushed out upon the |
| glittering span of snow while Connie and |
| Waseche watched breathlessly" |
272 |
| |
| "My dad followed British Kronk eight hundred |
| miles through the snow before he caught |
| him—and then—you just wait." |
299 |
| |
| "Mechanically he drew the knife from its sheath |
| and dragged himself to the body of the |
| moose." |
310 |
| |
| "Between them walked a little, rat-faced man. |
| The man was Mr. Squigg." |
331 |
| |
|
|