his shoulders, and she looked ahead over the backs of
the wolfish pack, shivering as she thought of what Uppy would do could
he guess her loss. But he was running now for his life, driven on by
his fear of her unerring marksmanship--and Wapi. She looked over her
shoulder. Wapi was there, a huge gray shadow twenty paces behind. And
she thought she heard a shout!

Peter was speaking to her. "Blake's dogs are tired," he was saying.
"They were just about to camp, and ours have had a rest. Perhaps--"

"We shall beat them!" she interrupted him. "See how fast we are going,
Peter! It is splendid!"

A rifle-shot sounded behind them. It was not far away, and
involuntarily she clutched him tighter. Peter reached up a hand.

"Give me the revolver, Dolores."

"No," she protested. "They are not going to overtake us."

"You must give me the revolver," he insisted.

"Peter, I can't. You understand, I can't. I must keep the revolver."

She looked back again. There was no doubt now. Their pursuers were
drawing nearer. She heard a voice, the la-looing of running Eskimos, a
faint shout which she knew was a white man's shout--and another rifle
shot. Wapi was running nearer. He was almost at the tail of the sledge,
and his red eyes were fixed on her as he ran.

"Wapi!" she cried. "Wapi!"

His jaws dropped agape. She could hear his panting response to her
voice.

A third shot--over their heads sped a strange droning sound.

"Wapi," she almost screamed, "go back! Sick 'em, Wapi--sick 'em--sick
'em--sick 'em!" She flung out her arms, driving him back, repeating the
words over and over again. She leaned over the edge of the sledge,
clinging to the gee-bar. "Go back, Wapi! Sick 'em--sick 'em--sick 'em!"

As if in response to her wild exhortation, there came a sudden yelping
outcry from the team behind. It was close upon them now. Another ten
minutes.

And then she saw that Wapi was dropping behind. Quickly he was
swallowed up in the starlit chaos of the night.

"Peter," she cried, sobbingly. "Peter!"

Listening to the retreating sound of the sledge, Wapi stood a silent
shadow in the trail. Then he turned and faced the north. He heard the
other sound now, and ahead of it the wind brought him a smell, the
smell of things he hated. For many years something had been fighting
itself toward understanding within him, and the yelping of dogs and the
taint in the air of creatures who had been his slave-masters narrowed
his instinct to