pitch gloom engulfed him.

They were dragging on the cover to the box! He heard the rapid beating
of a hammer, the biting of nails into wood, and he writhed and struggled
to free his hands, to cry out, to gain the use of his legs, but not the
fraction of an inch could he relieve himself of his fetters. After a
time his straining muscles relaxed, and he stopped to get his breath and
listen. Faintly there came to him the sound of subdued voices, and he
caught a glimmer of light, then another, and still a third. He saw now
that half a dozen holes had been bored into the cover and sides of the
box. The discovery brought with it a sense of relief. At least he was
not to be suffocated. He found, after an interval, that he was even
comfortable, and that his captors had not only given him a bed to lie
upon, but had placed a pillow under his head.

Chapter VII. The Tragedy In The Cabin

A few moments later Philip heard the movement of heavy feet, the opening
and closing of a door, and for a time after that there was silence. Had
MacGregor anticipated this, he wondered? Was this a part of the program
which the inspector had foreseen that he would play? His blood warmed
at the thought and he clenched his fists. Then he began to think more
calmly. His captors had not relieved him of his weapons. They had placed
his service cap in the box with him and had unbuckled his cartridge belt
so that he would rest more comfortably. What did all this mean? For the
hundredth time he asked himself the question.

Returning footsteps interrupted his thoughts. The cabin door opened,
people entered, again he heard whispering voices.

He strained his ears. At first he could have sworn that he heard the
soft, low tones of a woman's voice, but they were not repeated. Hands
caught hold of the box, dragged it across the floor, and then he felt
himself lifted bodily, and, after a dozen steps, placed carefully upon
some object in the snow. His amazement increased when he understood what
was occurring.

He was on a sledge. Through the air-holes in his prison he heard the
scraping of strap-thongs as they were laced through the runner-slits and
over the box, the restless movement of dogs, a gaping whine, the angry
snap of a pair of jaws. Then, slowly, the sledge began to move. A whip
cracked loudly above him, a voice rose in a loud shout, and the dogs
were urged to a trot. Again there came to Philip's ears the wheezing
notes of the accordion. By a