imself by the fire, contenting himself
by walking to the top of the trail to view the lake at intervals of
from twelve to fifteen minutes. Twice he did this and the second time
was made aware of a change in the atmosphere. It had grown much colder
and as he turned the corner of the cliff a gust of icy-wind smote him
in the face. He looked downwards. The surface of the lake was still
barren of life; but not of movement. Films of snow, driven by the gusty
wind, drove down its narrow length, were lifted higher and then
subsided as the wind fell. Overhead the sky was of a uniform leaden hue
and he knew that before long there would be snow. And if snow came----

His heart stood almost still at the thought. It might snow for days,
and in the storm, when all trails would be obliterated it would be an
easy matter to miss Helen and her captors altogether. As he returned to
the fire, his mind was full of forebodings. He was afraid, and though
Jean Benard slept on, he himself could not rest. He made up the fire,
prepared bacon and moose meat for cooking, set some coffee to boil. It
would be as well to have a meal in case the necessity for a start
should arise. These things done he went once more to the outlook, and
surveyed the snow-covered landscape. The wind was still for the moment,
and there were no wandering wisps of snow. His first glance was towards
the creek opposite the island. There was nothing there to arrest
attention. His eyes travelled further without any light of expectation
in them. Creek by creek, bay by bay, he followed the shore line, then,
in a second, his gaze grew fixed. The lake was no longer devoid of
life. Far-off, at least ten miles, as he swiftly calculated, a blur of
black dots showed on the surface of the snow. Instantly he knew it for
what it was--a team of sled dogs. His heart leaped at the sight, and
the next moment he was running towards the camp.

"Jean! Jean!" he cried. "Jean Benard!"

The sleeping man passed from slumber to full wakefulness with the
completeness that characterizes a healthy child.

"Ah, m'sieu," he said, standing upright. "Dey haf arrive?"

"I do not know. But there is a dog-train a long way up the lake."

"I weel tak' one look," said the trapper, beginning to walk quickly
towards the head of the trail.

Stane went with him and indicated the direction.

"There, where the shore sweeps inward! Do you see, Jean?"

"Oui, m'sieu."

With bent brows the trapper stared at the