the rich luster of rare
metal. Not until the pitch was burning itself out in a final sputter of
flame did Philip replace it in the wallet.

With the going of the fire an utter and chaotic blackness shut him in.
Feeling his way he crawled through the door of his tunnel, over the
inside of which he had fastened as a flap his silk service tent. Then
he stretched himself out in his sleeping-bag. It was surprisingly
comfortable. Since he had left Breault's cabin he had not enjoyed such
a bed. And last night he had not slept at all. He fell into deep sleep.
The hours and the night passed over him. He did not hear the wailing of
the wind that came with the dawn. When day followed dawn there were
other sounds which he did not hear. His inner consciousness, the
guardian of his sleep, cried for him to arouse himself. It pounded like
a little hand in his brain, and at last he began to move restlessly,
and twist in his sleeping-bag. His eyes shot open suddenly. The light
of day filled his tunnel. He looked toward the "door" which he had
covered with his tent.

The tent was gone.

In its place was framed a huge shaggy head, and Philip found himself
staring straight into the eyes of Bram Johnson.

CHAPTER VII

Philip was not unaccustomed to the occasional mental and physical shock
which is an inevitable accompaniment of the business of Law in the
northland. But never had he felt quite the same stir in his blood as
now--when he found himself looking down the short tunnel into the face
of the man he was hunting.

There come now and then moments in which a curious understanding is
impinged upon one without loss of time in reason and surmise--and this
was one of those moments for Philip. His first thought as he saw the
great wild face in the door of his tunnel was that Bram had been
looking at him for some time--while he was asleep; and that if the
desire to kill had been in the outlaw's breast he might have achieved
his purpose with very little trouble. Equally swift was his observance
of the fact that the tent with which he had covered the aperture was
gone, and that his rifle, with the weight of which he had held the tent
in place, had disappeared. Bram had secured possession of them before
he had roused himself.

It was not the loss of these things, or entirely Bram's sudden and
unexpected appearance, that sent through him the odd thrill, which he
experienced. It was Bram's face, his eyes, the tense and mysterious
e