gnment it was
possible that Isobel and her father would have come to him. They knew
that his detachment was at Prince Albert--and they were going south. He
had little doubt but that they were striking for Nelson House, and from
Nelson House to civilization there was but one trail, that which led to
Le Pas and Etomami. And Etomami was but two hours by rail from Prince
Albert.

He carried in his breast pocket a bit of written information which he
had obtained from the Churchill factor--that helped to soften, in a
way, the sting of his disappointment. It was Colonel Becker's London
address--and Isobel's, and he quickly laid out for himself new plans of
action. He would write to MacGregor from Lac Bain, asking him to put in
at once the necessary application for the purchase of his release from
the service. As soon as he was free he would go to London. He would
call on Isobel like a gentleman, he told himself. Perhaps, after all, it
would be the better way.

But first, there was DeBar.

As he had been feverishly anxious to return into the North, so, now, he
was anxious to have this affair with DeBar over with. He lost no time at
Lac Bain, writing his letter to Inspector MacGregor on the same day that
he arrived. Only two of the dogs which the Indian had brought into the
post were fit to travel, and with these, and a light sledge on which he
packed his equipment he set off alone for Fond du Lac. A week later he
reached the post. He found Hutt, the factor, abed with a sprained knee,
and the only other men at the post were three Chippewayans, who could
neither talk nor understand English.

"DeBar is gone," groaned Hutt, after Philip had made himself known. "A
rascal of a Frenchman came in last night on his way to the Grand Rapid,
and this morning DeBar was missing. I had the Chippewayans in, and they
say he left early in the night with his sledge and one big bull of a
hound that he hangs to like grim death. I'd kill that damned Indian you
came up with. I believe it was he that told the Frenchman there was an
officer on the way."

"Is the Frenchman here?" asked Philip.

"Gone!" groaned Hutt again, turning his twisted knee. "He left for the
Grand Rapid this morning, and there isn't another dog or sledge at the
post. This winter has been death on the dogs, and what few are left are
out on the trap-lines. DeBar knows you're after him, sure as fate, and
he's taken a trail toward the Athabasca. The best I can do is to let you