ney mingled with a fresh bluster of the wind
outside.

Defying the exhaustion of limbs and body, Jolly Roger kept steadily at
work. He threw off his heavier garments as the freezing atmosphere of
the room became warmer, and prepared for a feast.

"We'll call it Christmas, and have everything we've got, Pied-Bot.
We'll cook a quart of prunes instead of six. No use stinting
ourselves--tonight!"

Even Peter was amazed at the prodigality of his master. An hour later
they ate, and McKay drank a quart of hot coffee before he was done. Half
of his fatigue was gone and he sat back for a few minutes to finish off
with the luxury of his pipe. Peter, gorged with caribou meat, stretched
himself out to sleep. But his eyes did not close. His master puzzled
him. For after a little Jolly Roger put on his heavy coat and parkee
and pocketed his pipe. After that he slipped the straps of his pack over
head and shoulders and then, even more to Peter's bewilderment, emptied
a quart bottle of kerosene over the pile of dry wood behind the hot
stove. To this he touched a lighted match. His next movement drew from
Peter a startled yelp. With a single thrust of his foot he sent the
stove crashing into the middle of the floor.

Half an hour later, when Peter and Jolly Roger looked back from the
crest of the ridge, a red pillar of flame lighted up the gloomy chaos of
the unpeopled world they were leaving behind them. The wind was driving
fiercely from the Barren and with it came stinging volleys of the fine
drift-snow. In the teeth of it Roger McKay stared back.

"It's a good fire," he mumbled in his hood. "Half an hour and it will
be out. There'll be nothing for Breault to find if this wind keeps up
another two hours--nothing but drift-snow, with no sign of trail or
cabin."

He struck out, leaving the shelter of the ridge. Straight south he went,
keeping always in the open spaces where the wind-swept drift covered his
snowshoe trail almost as soon as it was made. Darkness did not trouble
him now. The open barren was ahead, miles of it, while only a little to
the westward was the shelter of timber. Twice he blundered to the edge
of this timber, but quickly set his course again in the open, with the
wind always quartering at his back. He could only guess how long he kept
on. The time came when he began to count the swing of his snowshoes,
measuring off half a mile, or a mile, and then beginning over again
until at last the achievement of five