ront of us was the hole in the shore ice and all the smash and
flurry where we had gone through. Where we had crawled on shore, from
under the intact ice roof, was bare rock, wind-swept clean. It struck me
that with a little management, and to a cursory inspector, it could look
as though Paulette and I were drowned like Thompson. The snow had not
piled on this side the lake as it had on ours. Detached rocks, few but
practicable stepping-stones, lifted their bare bulk out of it, between
us and the spruce bush we had to strike through to avoid the Halfway and
Macartney's picket. Some kind of a trail we must leave to Skunk's
Misery, but it need not begin here, in the first place Macartney would
look, if he were alive to look anywhere. Paulette's eyes followed mine
as I thought it, and she nodded. It was without a track of any sort,
after the lake trail ended, that she and I stopped in the thick spruces
and put on our snowshoes for the last lap of the way to Skunk's Misery.

My dream girl's trained young body served her well. As she stepped out
after me, I would never have guessed she had run a yard. It was easy
enough to avoid the Halfway, and unlikely that Macartney's men would
ever discover our devious track in the thick bush. Crossing the Caraquet
road was the only place where we had to leave a track in the open. I did
the best I could with it by picking up Paulette, and carrying her and
her shoes into thick bush again; but I could not honestly feel much
pleasure in the result. Any one with any sense would know my sunken shoe
marks had carried double, but it was the best I could do. It was no
pleasure to me either to hear Paulette exclaim sharply, as I set her
down:

"Nicky, I _forgot_! Dick can snowshoe after us, if he's alive. Charliet
made a lot of snowshoes at odd times, to sell in Quebec if he ever went
back there. They were piled up in the shed behind the kinty, and I
believe Dick knew--though he didn't remember it in time to save his men.
If he follows us I"--her lip curled in fear and hatred--"Oh, I hope he's
dead!"

So did I. Yet somehow I had never felt it. "Well, if he isn't," I said
roughly, "he'll have to do twenty-two miles to catch up to our five, and
then some to Skunk's Misery. He couldn't make good enough time round the
lake to catch us to-night, supposing he knew where we were going; even
on the chance of him, we've got to have one night's rest. And our only
place to find it is Skunk's Misery!"

P