Sergeant Preston and the great dog King had stopped for the night at Mart Willoughby's small cabin. Although it was close to the time when spring would come to the north country, winter still held the land in an icy grasp that would be broken only when the Chinook winds swept across it to free lakes and rivers and the snow bound earth. With the wind whipping about the snug building, the warmth and comfort indoors were welcome to the Mountie, and he leaned back, tilting his chair as he looked about him...