nd twos and then in
whole constellations. It preceded by perhaps half an hour the utter and
chaotic blackness that comes before the northern dawn, and it was this
darkness that Philip dreaded as he waited beside his fire.

In the impenetrable gloom of that hour Bram might come. It was possible
that he had been waiting for that darkness. Philip looked at his watch.
It was four o'clock. Once more he went to his tree, and waited. In
another quarter of an hour he could not see the tree beside which he
stood. And Bram did not come. With the beginning of the gray dawn
Philip rebuilt his fire for the third time and prepared to cook his
breakfast. He felt the need of coffee--strong coffee--and he boiled
himself a double ration. At seven o'clock he was ready to take up the
trail.

He believed now that some mysterious and potent force had restrained
Bram Johnson from taking advantage of the splendid opportunity of that
night to rid himself of an enemy. As he made his way through the scrub
timber along the edge of the Barren it was with the feeling that he no
longer desired Bram as a prisoner. A thing more interesting than Bram
had entered into the adventure. It was the golden snare. Not with Bram
himself, but only at the end of Bram's trail, would he find what the
golden snare stood for. There he would discover the mystery and the
tragedy of it, if it meant anything at all. He appreciated the extreme
hazard of following Bram to his long hidden retreat. The man he might
outwit in pursuit and overcome in fair fight, if it came to a fight,
but against the pack he was fighting tremendous odds.

What this odds meant had not fully gripped him until he came cautiously
out of the timber half an hour later and saw what was left of the
caribou the pack had killed. The bull had fallen within fifty yards of
the edge of the scrub. For a radius of twenty feet about it the snow
was beaten hard by the footprints of beasts, and this arena was stained
red with blood and scattered thickly with bits of flesh, broken bones
and patches of hide. Philip could see where Bram had come in on the
run, and where he had kicked off his snowshoes. After that his great
moccasin tracks mingled with those of the wolves. Bram had evidently
come in time to save the hind quarters, which had been dragged to a
spot well out of the red ring of slaughter. After that the stars must
have looked down upon an amazing scene. The hungry horde had left
scarcely more than the