feet, a new man,
his confidence and vitality all restored.

The fire had died to ashes. He could hear the yelping of the dogs in
the distance. They were on a private rabbit hunt of their own, all of
them but Cuffy. The St. Bernard still lay in the snow watching West.

Beresford's delirium was gone and his fever was less. He was very
weak, but Tom thought he saw a ghost of the old boyish grin flicker
indomitably into his eyes. As Tom looked at the swathed and bandaged
head, for the first time since the murderous attack he allowed
himself to hope. The never-say-die spirit of the man and the splendid
constitution built up by a clean outdoor life might pull him through
yet.

"West was afraid you never were going to wake up, Tom. It worried him.
You know how fond of you he is," the constable said weakly.

Morse was penitent. "Why didn't you wake me, Win? You must be dying of
thirst."

"I could do with a drink," he admitted. "But you needed that sleep.
Every minute of it."

Tom built up the fire and thawed snow. He gave Beresford a drink and
then fed more of the broth to him. He made breakfast for the prisoner
and himself.

Afterward, he took stock of their larder. It was almost empty. "Enough
flour and pemmican for another mess of rubaboo. Got to restock right
away or our stomachs will be flat as a buffalo bull's after a long
stampede."

He spoke cheerfully, yet he and Beresford both knew a hunt for game
might be unsuccessful. Rabbits would not do. He had to provide enough
to feed the dogs as well as themselves. If he did not get a moose, a
bear, or caribou, they would face starvation.

Tom redressed the wounds of the trooper and examined the splints on
the arm to make sure they had not become disarranged during the night
in the delirium of the sick man.

"Got to leave you, Win. Maybe for a day or more. I'll have plenty of
wood piled handy for the fire--and broth all ready to heat. Think you
can make out?"

The prospect could not have been an inviting one for the wounded man,
but he nodded quite as a matter of course.

"I'll be all right. Take your time. Don't spoil your hunt worrying
about me."

Yet it was with extreme reluctance Tom had made up his mind to go. He
would take the dog-train with him--and West, unarmed, of course. He
had to take him on Beresford's account, because he dared not leave
him. But as he looked at his friend, all the supple strength stricken
out of him, weak and helpless as a sick