ck. He felt it
slowly creeping into his shoulders and to his arms. He looked at
Jackpine and saw that he was swinging his body more and more with the
motion of his arms. And then he saw that the terrific pace set by
O'Grady was beginning to tell on the occupants of the canoe ahead. The
speed grew less and less, until it was no more than seventy yards. In
spite of the pains that were eating at his strength like swimmer's
cramp, Jan could not restrain a low cry of exultation. O'Grady had
planned to beat him out in that first twenty-mile spurt. And he had
failed! His heart leaped with new hope even while his strokes were
growing weaker.

Ahead of them, at the far end of the lake, there loomed up the black
spruce timber which marked the beginning of the third portage, thirty
miles from Porcupine City. Jan knew that he would win there--that he
would gain an eighth of a mile in the half-mile carry. He knew of a
shorter cut than that of the regular trail. He had cleared it himself,
for he had spent a whole winter on that portage trapping lynx.

Marie lived only twelve miles beyond. More than once Marie had gone
with him over the old trap line. She had helped him to plan the little
log cabin he had built for himself on the edge of the big swamp, hidden
away from all but themselves. It was she who had put the red paper
curtains over the windows, and who, one day, had written on the corner
of one of them: "My beloved Jan." He forgot O'Grady as he thought of
Marie and those old days of happiness and hope. It was Jackpine who
recalled him at last to what was happening. In amazement he saw that
O'Grady and his Chippewayan had ceased paddling. They passed a dozen
yards abreast of them. O'Grady's great arms and shoulders were
glistening with perspiration. His face was purplish. In his eyes and on
his lips was the old taunting sneer. He was panting like a wind-broken
animal. As Jan passed he uttered no word.

An eighth of a mile ahead was the point where the regular portage
began, but Jan swung around this into a shallow inlet from which his
own secret trail was cut. Not until he was ashore did he look back.
O'Grady and his Indian were paddling in a leisurely manner toward the
head of the point. For a moment it looked as though they had given up
the race, and Jan's heart leaped exultantly. O'Grady saw him and waved
his hand. Then he jumped out to his knees in the water and the
Chippewayan followed him. He shouted to Jan, and pointed