Never in his life had the city youth seen a snow-storm like that which he now gazed out into.

The great north storm had arrived--a storm which comes just once each year in the endless Arctic desolation.

For days and weeks the Indians had expected it and wondered at its lateness.

It fell softly, silently, without a breath of air to stir it; a smothering, voiceless sea of white, impenetrable to human vision, so thick that it seemed as though it might stifle one's breath.

Rod held out the palm of his hand and in an instant it was covered with a film of white.