ow."

He slipped into his snowshoes, gave a last look around to see that no
food had been left, and with a final growl of fury he started in
pursuit.

* * * * *

Ahead of him, ploughing their way through the virgin snow, he could see
the dragging track of the long snowshoes. He examined it, and noted that
it was sharp and crisp at the edges.

"He's got a good five hours' start of me! Travelling fast, too, by the
length of the track."

He had a thought of capturing the dogs and hitching them up; but,
thoroughly terrified, they had retreated into the woods. To overtake
this man, to glut his lust for revenge, he must depend on his own
strength and endurance.

"Now, Jack Locasto," he told himself grimly, "you've got a fight on your
hands, such a fight as you never had before. Get right down to it."

So, with head bowed and shoulders sloping forward, he darted on the
track of the Worm.

"He's got to break trail, the viper! and that's where I score. I can
make twice the time. Oh, just wait, you little devil! just wait!"

He ground his teeth vindictively, and put an inch more onto his stride.
He was descending a long, open valley that seemed from its trackless
snows to have been immemorially life-shunned and accursed. Black,
witch-like pines sentinelled its flanks, and accentuated its desolation.
And over all there was the silence of the Wild, that double-strong
solution of silence from which all other silences are distilled, and
spread out. Yet, as he gazed around him in this everlasting solitude,
there was no fear in his heart.

"I can fight this accursed land and beat it out every time," he exulted.
"It can't get any the better of me."

It was cold, so cold that it was difficult to imagine it could ever be
warm again. To expose flesh was to feel instantly the sharp sting that
heralds frostbite. As he ran, the sharp intake of icy air made his lungs
seem to contract. His eyes smarted and tingled. The lashes froze
closely. Ice formed in his nostrils and his nose began to bleed. He
pulled up a moment.

"Curse this infernal country!"

He had not eaten and the icy air begot a ravenous hunger. He dreamed of
food, but chiefly of bacon, fat, greasy bacon. How glorious it would be
just to eat of it, raw, tallow bacon! He had nothing to eat. He would
have nothing till he had overtaken the Worm. On! On!

He came to where the Worm had made a camp. There were the ashes of a
fire.

"Curs