w and ice. For a flash it stopped
him, and the moment's pause was fatal. Before he could throw himself
forward on his face in a last effort to save himself, the ice gave
way and he plunged through. In his extremity he thought of DeBar, of
possible help even from the outlaw, and a terrible cry for that help
burst from his lips as he felt himself going. The next instant he was
sorry that he had shouted. He was to his waist in water, but his feet
were on bottom. He saw now what had happened, that the surface of the
water was a foot below the shell of ice, which was scarcely more than
an inch in thickness. It was not difficult for him to kick off his
snow-shoes under the water, and he began breaking his way ashore.

Five minutes later he dragged himself out, stiff with the cold, his
drenched clothing freezing as it came into contact with the air.
His first thought was of fire, and he ran up the shore, his teeth
chattering, and began tearing off handfuls of bark from a birch. Not
until he was done and the bark was piled in a heap beside the tree did
the full horror of his situation dawn upon him. His emergency pouch was
on the sledge, and in that pouch was his waterproof box of matches!

He ran back to the edge of broken ice, unconscious that he was almost
sobbing in his despair. There was no sign of the sledge, no sound of
the dogs, who might still be struggling in their traces. They were
gone--everything--food, fire, life itself. He dug out his flint and
steel from the bottom of a stiffening pocket and knelt beside the bark,
striking them again and again, yet knowing that his efforts were futile.
He continued to strike until his hands were purple and numb and his
freezing clothes almost shackled him to the ground.

"Good God!" he breathed.

He rose slowly, with a long, shuddering breath and turned his eyes to
where the outlaw's trail swung from the lake into the North. Even in
that moment, as the blood in his veins seemed congealing with the icy
chill of death, the irony of the situation was not lost upon Philip.

"It's the law versus God, Billy," he chattered, as if DeBar stood before
him. "The law wouldn't vindicate itself back there--ten years ago--but I
guess it's doing it now."

He dropped into DeBar's trail and began to trot.

"At least it looks as if you're on the side of the Mighty," he
continued. "But we'll see--very soon--Billy--"

Ahead of him the trail ran up a ridge, broken and scattered with rocks
an