me
the blow. He saw the club over him, a short, thick club, in the hand of
Thoreau himself. After that followed darkness and oblivion, punctuated
by the CRACK, CRACK, CRACK of a revolver and the howling of
dogs--sounds that grew fainter and fainter until they died away
altogether, and he sank into the stillness of night.

It was almost dark when consciousness stirred Philip again. With an
effort he pulled himself to his knees, and stared about him. Josephine
was gone, the dogs were gone. He staggered to his feet, a moaning cry
on his lips. He saw the sledge. Still in the traces lay the bodies of
two of the dogs, and he knew what the pistol shots had meant. The
others had been cut loose; straight out into the forest led the trails
of several men; and the meaning of it all, the reality of what had
happened, surged upon him in all its horror. Lang and his cutthroats
had carried off Josephine. He knew by the thickening darkness that they
had time to get a good start on their way to Thoreau's.

One thought filled his dizzy brain now. He must reach Jean and the camp
near the pit. He staggered as he turned his face homeward. At times the
trail seemed to reach up and strike him in the face. There was a
blinding pain back of his eyes. A dozen times in the first mile he
fell, and each time it was harder for him to regain his feet. The
darkness of night grew heavier about him, and now and then he found
himself crawling on his hands and knees. It was two hours before his
dazed senses caught the glow of a fire ahead of him. Even then it
seemed an age before he reached it. And when at last he staggered into
the circle of light he saw half a dozen startled faces, and he heard
the strange cry of Jean Jacques Croisset as he sprang up and caught him
in his arms. Philip's strength was gone, but he still had time to tell
Jean what had happened before he crumpled down into the snow.

And then he heard a voice, Jean's voice, crying fierce commands to the
men about the fire; he heard excited replies, the hurry of feet, the
barking of dogs. Something warm and comforting touched his lips. He
struggled to bring himself back into life. He seemed to have been
fighting hours before he opened his eyes. He pulled himself up, stared
into the dark, livid face of Jean, the half-breed.

"The hour--has come--" he murmured.

"Yes, the hour has come, M'sieur!" cried Jean. "The swiftest teams and
the swiftest runners in this part of the Northland are on