child, he felt a queer tug at
the heart. What assurance had he that he would find him still alive on
his return?

Beresford knew what he was thinking. He smiled, the gentle,
affectionate smile of the very ill. "It's all right, old fellow. Got
to buck up and carry on, you know. Look out--for West. Don't give him
any show at you. Never trust him--not for a minute. Remember he's--a
wolf." His weak hand gripped Tom's in farewell.

The American turned away hurriedly, not to show the tears that
unexpectedly brimmed his lids. Though he wore the hard surface of the
frontier, his was a sensitive soul. He was very fond of this gay,
gallant youth who went out to meet adventure as though it were a lover
with whom he had an appointment. They had gone through hell together,
and the fires of the furnace had proved the Canadian true gold. After
all, Tom was himself scarcely more than a boy in years. He cherished,
deep hidden in him, the dreams and illusions that long contact with
the world is likely to dispel. At New Haven and Cambridge lads of his
age were larking beneath the elms and playing childish pranks on each
other.

West drove the team. Tom either broke trail or followed. He came
across plenty of tracks, but most of them were old ones. He recognized
the spoor of deer, bear, and innumerable rabbits. Toward noon fresh
caribou tracks crossed their path. The slot pointed south. Over a soft
and rotting trail Morse swung round in pursuit.

They made heavy going of it. He had to break trail through slushy
snow. His shoes broke through the crust and clogged with the sludgy
stuff so that his feet were greatly weighted. Fatigue pressed like a
load on his shoulders. The dogs and West wallowed behind.

By night probably the trail would be much better, but they dared not
wait till then. The caribou would not stop to suit the convenience of
the hunters. This might be the last shot in the locker. Every dragging
lift of the webs carried Morse farther from camp, but food had to be
found and in quantity.

It was close to dusk when Tom guessed they were getting near the herd.
He tied the train to a tree and pushed on with West. Just before
nightfall he sighted the herd grazing on muskeg moss. There were about
a dozen in all. The wind was fortunately right.

Tom motioned to West not to follow him. On hands and knees the hunter
crept forward, taking advantage of such cover as he could find. It was
a slow, cold business, but he was not her