The Washington herald., 1912-07-21
PHILIP STEELE

Ipcated again and again as they advanc-
ed, until he became accustomed to them.
i Yet at each new sound his fingers grip
/ pei tighter about his carbine and his
j heart beat little faster Once or twice
he spoke to the Indian, who understood
no word he said and remained silent.
They built FIRE and cooked their sup
j per when it grew too dark to travel
4 Later. when it became lighter, they
/ went on hour after hour through the
night. At dawn the trail was still old.
j There were the same cobwebs 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 they spent sixteen
hours on their snow-shoes and the lace
work of frost in DeBars trail grew
thinner. The next day they travelled
| fourteen and the next twelve, and there
was no lacework of frost at all. There
were hot Goals under the ashes of De-
Bars fires. The crumbs of his ban
mock were soft The toes of his Mack
cnzie hound left warm, sharp imprints.
Ii was then that they came to the froz-
en- water of the Chariot. The Chippe-
wayan turned back to Fond du Lac.
and Philip went on alone, the two dogs
limping behind 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. 1t was filled
with something more grim, something
that frightened his muscles, kept him
ceaselessly alert He would come on
DeBar-and there would be a fight
DeBar would not be taken by surprise.
At noon he 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, it occurred to him
that since that morning DeBar had
built but one. Gray dawn had scarcely
broken when he again took up the pur-
suit Ii was bitterly cold, and biting
wind swept down across the bsrrens
from the arctic icebergs. His pocket
thermometer registered sixty degrees
below zero when he left it open on the
sledge, and six times between dawn
and dusk he built himself fires. Again
DeBar built but one, and this time he
found no bannock crumbs.
For the last twenty miles DeBar had
gone straight into the North. He con-
tinued straight into the North the next
day and several times Philip scrutinized
his map, which told him in that direc-
ton there. lay nothing but peopleless
barrens as far as the Great Slave.
There was growing in him now
fear-a fear that DeBar would beat him
out in the race. His limbs began to
ache with strange pain and his pro-
gress was becoming slower At inter
walls he stopped to rest, and after each
of these intervals the pain seemed to
gnaw deeper at his bones, forcing him
to limp, as the dogs were limping be-
hind him. He had felt it once before,
beyond Lac Balm, and knew what il
meant His legs were giving out-and
DeBar would beat him yet The
thought stirred him on, and before he
stopped again he came to the edge of
a little lake. DeBar had started to
cross the lake, and then. changing his
mind, had turned back and skirted the
edge of it. Philip followed the outlaws
trail with his eyes and saw that he
could strike il again and save distance
by crossing the snow-covered ice
He went on, with dogs and sledge
at his heels, unconscious of the warning
underfoot that had turned DeBar back
In midlake he turned to urge the dogs
into faster pace. and'it was then that
he heard under him hollow, trembling
sound. growing in volume even as he
hesitated, Until it surged in under his
feat from every shore, like the rolling
thunder of a ten-pin bail. With loud
cry to the dogs he darted forward, but
it was too late. Behind him the ice
crashed like brittle glass and he saw
sledge and dogs disappear as If into
an abyss. In an instant ne had begun
a mad race to the shore hundred feet
ahead of him. Ten PAGES more and he
would have reached it, when the toe of
his snow-shoe caught in a hummock of
snow and ice. For a fash it stopped
him, and the moments pause was fatal.
Before he could throw himself forward
on his face in a'last effort to save him.
self, the ice gave way and he plunged
through. In his extremity he thought
of DeBar, of possible help even from
the outlaw, and terrible cry for that |
help burst from his lips as he felt him. |
self going. The next instant he was
sorry, that he had shouted. He was |
to his waist in water, but his feet were |
on bottom. He saw now what had hap !
pened, that the surface of the water was |
a foot below the shell of ice, which
was scarcely more than an inch in
thickness. 1t was not difficult for him
to kick off his snow-shoes under the |
water, and he began breaking his way
ashore. -..-..
Five minutes later he dragged him.
self out, stiff with the cold. his drench-
ed clothing freezing as it came into
contact with the air. His first thought |
was OF fire. and he ran up the shore,
his teeth chattering, and began tearing
off handfuls OF bark from a birch. Not
until he was done and the bark was
piled IN heap beside the tree did the
full horror of his situation dawn upon
him. His emergency pouch was on the
sledge, and in that pouch was his wat
erproof box of matches
He ran back to the edge of broken
ice, unconscious that he was almost
sobbing in his despair. There was no
sign OF the sledge, no sound of the dogs,
who might still be struggling in their
traces. They were gone-everythinp-
food, fire, life itself. He dug out his
flint and steel from the bottom of
stiffening pocket and knelt beside the
Ia RI Stritino them ooa;,, ,,J ,,,:,. =. /