to the North began,
Philip sent a long letter to Josephine.

Two days after he and Pierre had started down the Mackenzie, a letter
came to Fort McMurray for Philip. "Long" La Brie, a special messenger,
brought it from Athabasca Landing. He was too late, and he had no
instructions--and had not been paid--to go farther.

Day after day Philip continued steadily northward. He carried
Josephine's letter to Peter God in his breast pocket, securely tied in
a little waterproof bag. It was a thick letter, and time and again he
held it in his hand, and wondered why it was that Josephine could have
so much to say to the lonely fox-hunter up on the edge of the Barren.

One night, as he sat alone by their fire in the chill of September
darkness, he took the letter from its sack and saw that the contents of
the bulging envelope had sprung one end of the flap loose. Before he
went to bed Pierre had set a pail of water on the coals. A cloud of
steam was rising from it. Those two things--the steam and the loosened
flap--sent a thrill through Philip. What was in the letter? What had
Josephine McCloud written to Peter God?

He looked toward sleeping Pierre; the pail of water began to bubble and
sing--he drew a tense breath, and rose to his feet. In thirty seconds
the steam rising from the pail would free the rest of the flap. He
could read the letter, and reseal it.

And then, like a shock, came the thought of the few notes Josephine had
written to him. On each of them she had never failed to stamp her seal
in a lavender-colored wax. He had observed that Colonel McCloud always
used a seal, in bright red. On this letter to Peter God there was no
seal! She trusted him. Her faith was implicit. And this was her proof
of it. Under his breath he laughed, and his heart grew warm with new
happiness and hope. "I have faith in you," she had said, at parting;
and now, again, out of the letter her voice seemed to whisper to him,
"I have faith in you."

He replaced the letter in its sack, and crawled between his blankets
close to Pierre.

That night had seen the beginning of his struggle with himself. This
year, autumn and winter came early in the North country. It was to be a
winter of terrible cold, of deep snow, of famine and pestilence--the
winter of 1910. The first oppressive gloom of it added to the fear and
suspense that began to grow in Philip.

For days there was no sign of the sun. The clouds hung low. Bitter
winds came out of the