Bram's hand gripped it the wood was
worn as smooth and dark as mahogany. In many places the striking end of
the club was dented as though it had suffered the impact of tremendous
blows, and it was discolored by suggestive stains. There was no sign of
cooking utensils and no evidence of any other food but the caribou
flesh. On the rear of the sledge was a huge bundle of pitch-soaked
spruce tied with babiche, and out of this stuck the crude handle of an
ax.

Of these things the gun and the white bear skin impressed Philip most.
He had only to lean forward a little to reach the rifle, and the
thought that he could scarcely miss the broad back of the man ahead of
him struck him all at once with a sort of mental shock. Bram had
evidently forgotten the weapon, or was utterly confident in the
protection of the pack. Or--had he faith in his prisoner? It was this
last question that Philip would liked to have answered in the
affirmative. He had no desire to harm Bram. He had even a less desire
to escape him. He had forgotten, so far as his personal intentions were
concerned, that he was an agent of the Law--under oath to bring in to
Divisional Headquarters Bram's body dead or alive. Since night before
last Bram had ceased to be a criminal for him. He was like Pelletier,
and through him he was entering upon a strange adventure which held for
him already the thrill and suspense of an anticipation which he had
never experienced in the game of man-hunting.

Had the golden snare been taken from the equation--had he not felt the
thrill of it in his fingers and looked upon the warm fires of it as it
lay unbound on Pierre Breault's table, his present relation with Bram
Johnson he would have considered as a purely physical condition, and he
might then have accepted the presence of the rifle there within his
reach as a direct invitation from Providence.

As it was, he knew that the master of the wolves was speeding swiftly
to the source of the golden snare. From the moment he had seen the
strange transformation it had worked in Bram that belief within him had
become positive. And now, as his eyes turned from the inspection of the
sledge to Bram and his wolves, he wondered where the trail was taking
him. Was it possible that Bram was striking straight north for
Coronation Gulf and the Eskimo? He had noted that the polar bear skin
was only slightly worn--that it had not long been taken from the back
of the animal that had worn it. He reca