Near the foot of the valley slope lay an inanimate, drab-colored object of some sort, barely defined against the smooth sweep of the snowy mountainside. From the wooded ridge above, it appeared as a faint speck upon the panorama of wintry landscape. Ninety-nine travelers in a hundred might have passed that direction and never noticed any break in the monotonous waste of white. But on that evening, a little before the fall of dusk, there rode by chance, from out of the pass and over the trail, the one man of a hundred. There were few things worth seeing in the wilderness that escaped the restless scrutiny of Corporal David Dexter of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. A glance ranging across …
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