r that stick."

"All his brains run to cunning. Don't forget that. Why should he have
to feel so long for that stick? He laid it down himself a minute ago.
Tryin' to slip one over on us maybe."

The Canadian looked at the lean, brown face of his friend and grinned.
"I've a notion our imaginations too are getting a bit jumpy. We've had
one bully time on this trip--with the reverse English. It's all in the
day's work to buck blizzards and starve and freeze, though I wouldn't
be surprised if our systems were pretty well fed up with grief before
we caught Mr. Bully West. Since then--well, you couldn't call him a
cheerful traveling companion, could you? A dozen times a day I want to
rip loose and tell him how much I don't think of him."

"Still--"

"We'll keep an eye on him. If necessary, it'll be the bracelets for
him. I'd hate to have the Inspector send in a report to headquarters,
'Constable Beresford missing in the line of duty.' I've a prejudice
against being shot in the back."

"That's one of the reasons I'm here--to see you're not if I can help
it."

Beresford's boyish face lit up. He understood what his friend meant.
"Say, Faraway isn't New York or London or even Toronto. But how'd you
like to be sitting down to one of Jessie McRae's suppers? A bit of
broiled venison done to a juicy turn, potatoes, turnips, hot biscuits
spread with raspberry jam. By jove, it makes the mouth water."

"And a slice of plum puddin' to top off with," suggested Morse,
bringing his own memory into play. "Don't ask me how I'd like it.
That's a justifiable excuse for murder. Get busy on that rubaboo. Our
guest's howlin' for his dinner."

The faint suspicions of Morse made the officers more wary. They
watched their prisoner a little closer. Neither of them quite believed
that he was recovering his sight. It was merely a possibility to be
guarded against.

But the guess of Morse had been true. It had been a week since flashes
of light had first come to West faintly. He began to distinguish
objects in a hazy way. Every day he could see better. Now he could
tell Morse from Beresford, one dog from another. Give him a few more
days and he would have as good vision as before he had gone blind.

All this he hid cunningly, as a miser does his gold. For his warped,
cruel brain was planning death to these two men. After that, another
plunge into the North for life and freedom.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE WILD BEAST LEAPS

Tom Morse was