ction towards God's Voice, which was only ten miles
distant. He had begun to take it for granted that the man was a Hudson
Bay employee, hurrying toward the fort to claim the reward, when the
tracks, branching off to the left, climbed out of the river and
plunged into a low-lying, thickly wooded wilderness, striking due
south.

In Keewatin the rivers are the only highways; to leave them even in
summer time, if you have no guide and are not a man born in the
district, is extremely dangerous; to do so in winter when, after every
precaution has been taken, travel remains precarious, is to court
almost certain death. For a moment Granger hesitated. He examined the
prints of the snowshoes and saw that they were very recent. The man
must have waited somewhere, and seen him coming. He must know now that
he was being followed, and could not be far ahead. "Well, it's death
whatever happens," thought Granger; "to go on to God's Voice is death;
to return to Murder Point is death. I'd just as soon die by this man's
hand, trying to avenge Spurling, as one cold morning in Winnipeg with
a rope about my neck."

The day rose late and cloudy. The sun did not show itself. The sky
weighed down upon the tree-tops, as if too heavy to support itself.
Presently large flakes of snow, the size of feathers, drifted through
the air, making a gentle rustling as they fell. Granger pressed on
more hurriedly, for he feared that, if he dropped too far behind, the
snow would cover up all traces of the man, and so he would escape him.
Sometimes he fancied that he could hear him going on ahead, for every
now and then a twig would snap. In the heat of his pursuit he took no
account of direction.

About midday he halted; of late all sounds had grown rarer and the
snow had thickened, causing even his own footprints to appear blurred
a few seconds after they had been made. Of the trail which he
followed he could see nothing himself, trusting to his huskies' sense
of smell to lead him aright.

Soon he grew strangely nervous, for he thought that he heard the
crunch of snowshoes coming up behind. He persuaded himself that it was
imagination, until his dogs, swinging round in a half-circle, began to
travel back in a direction parallel to the route they had already
traversed. He paused and listened again; behind him he could
distinctly hear the sound of something stirring. Then he knew that he
was no longer the pursuer.

His blood froze in his veins, and he