e.

For him it was a night of unparalleled agony. Hour after hour saw him
there, at the small window, gazing fixedly up the valley, until a slight
increase in the light brought him to full consciousness, to realize that a
new day was born.

He prepared a meal and, despite his lack of appetite, managed to consume
it. Then he took the ax and the rip-saw and made for a bunch of trees
higher up the hill. All day the noise of chopping and sawing broke the
silence. By the evening, after a day of feverish and unremitting toil, he
had fashioned a satisfactory sled.

Sleep came to him then--the deep dreamless sleep of exhaustion. But he
awakened early, and began to pack the sled with sufficient food for the
long journey. The six fierce brutes that remained were fed and harnessed,
and he again ran over the details of his load to assure himself that
nothing was missing. At the last moment he remembered the washing-pan and
shovel, and placed them with the other miscellaneous articles.

He had no dog-whip, but calculated he could mush the dogs without that. He
gave one glance at the shack, emitted a fierce torrent of oaths, and
pushed the sled into action.

They went down the incline at a terrific rate and bumped on to the river.
Yonder lay Dawson and D'Arcy. Whatever happened, he meant to get D'Arcy,
if it meant taking the Pole _en route_. Out of this anticipation he
derived some grain of pleasure--and he needed it to leaven the misery in
his soul. His hand moved to the revolver in the pocket of the big bearskin
coat, only to be withdrawn before he touched it.

"Nope--not that way," he muttered grimly, "but with my two hands."

CHAPTER XV

THE QUEST

It was a weary and travel-stained man that drove a dog-sled into Dawson a
fortnight later. The team was like the "musher," lean and wild-eyed, after
their four hundred miles of merciless driving. Through wind and snow this
man had kept the trail. Sleep became a thing unknown during the latter
stages of the journey. He expected to find D'Arcy in Dawson--and the
desire to meet D'Arcy had grown into a craving. He had half killed the
dogs and himself in this mad journey, but the incentive was tremendous.

How he missed her! Despite her soul-withering confession, he found himself
building up visions of her in his brain. Life had become suddenly
hopelessly blank, brightened by one thing--the desire for retribution upon
the head of the man who had smashed his idol.

Man,