The Detroit times., 1912-08-01
PHILPSTEELE
MISUNDERSTANDING !
y JAMES OLIVER CURwOOD
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the trees, the dogs pulling nolselessly
in their traces like sinking shadows,
the ghost-like desolation about him.
all recalled him TO that other factor
lin the game, who was DeBar the out
law, and not DeBar the man. In this
same way, he imagined, Forbes, Ban
mock, Fleisham and Gresham had be-
gun the game. and they had lost. Per-
haps they, too. had gone out weak
ened by visions OF the equity OF
things. for the sympathy or man for
man is strong when they meet above
the sixtieth.
DeBar was ahead OF him-DeBar
the outlaw, watching and scheming
as he had watched and sehemed when
the other four had played against
him. The game had grown old TO
him. II had brought him victim after
victim, and each victim had maze or
him a more deadly enemy OF the
next Perhaps at this moment he
VAS not very far ahead. waiting TO
send him the way OF the others. The
thought urged new fire into Philips
blood He spurted past the dogs hnd
stopped the Chippewayan, and then
examined the trail II was old. The
frost had hardened in the huge FOOT
prints OF DeBar's big hound; II had
built webby film over the square
impressions OF his snow-shoe thongs
But what OF that? Might not the
trail still be old, and DeBar a few
hundred yards ahead of him, waiting
watching?
He went back to the sledge and TN
IA a.. In
the first picture, the first sympathy,
was gone. 1t was not the law which
DeBar was fighting now. IL was him
! self He walked ahead OF the Indian,
alert, listening and prepared. The
cracking of a frost-bitten tree start
! led him into stopping; the swapping
/ OF twig under its weight OF Ice and
snow sent strange thrills through him
which left him almost sweating. The
/ sounds were repeated again and
/ again as they advanced. until he be-
came accustomed TO them. Yet at
each new sound his fingers gripped
! tighter about his carbine AMI his
| heart beat little faster. Once or
twice he spoke TO the Indian, who
understood no word he said and re-
NAMED silent They built a fire and
cooked their supper when II grew too
dark to travel.
Later, when il became lighter, they
went OH hour after hour, through ;he
night At dawn the trail was still
old There were the same cohwobs
Of frost, the same signs TO show that
DeBar and his Mackenzie hound had
preceded them a long time before.
During the next day and night Trey
spent lG hours on their snow-shoes
and the lacework OF frost in DeBar's
trail grew thinner The next day
they travelled IA and the next II.
and here was no lacework OF frost at
all There We're hot Goals under the
ashes of DeBar's fires. The crumbs
OF his hammock were soft The toes
OF his Mackenzie hound left warm.
sharp imprints. IL was then that
they came TO the frozen water OF the
Chariot The Chippewayan turned
back TO Fond du Lac. and Philip went
on alone, the two dogs limping be
hind him with his outfit.
1t was still early in the day when
Philip crossed the river into the bar
rens and with each step now his pulse
beat faster DeBar could not be far
ahead of him. He was sure OF that
Very soon he must overtake him. And
then-there would be a fight In the
tense minutes that followed, the
vision of Isobers beautiful face grew
less and less distinct in his mind. Il
was flied with something more grim,
something that frightened his muscles,
kept him ceaselessly alert He would
come on DeBar-and there would be
= fight DeBar would not be taken
by surprise
AT noon ne halted and built a small
fire between two rocks, over which
he boiled some tea and warmed his
meat. Each day he had built three
fires, but at the end OF this day,
when darkness stopped him again, II
occurred To him that since hat morn.
ing DeBar had built but one. Gray
dawn had scarcely broker. whsI he
again took up the pursuit II was BIT
terly cold, and biting wind swept
down across the barrens from the
Arctic icebergs. His pocket thsr-
mometer registered go degrees below
zero when he left it open on the
sedge, and six times between dawn
and dusk he built himself fires. Again
DeBar built but one, and this time
he found no hammock crumbs.
(continueu)
Rusfuess-Ifke Printing NO fuss ana