that his end had come. His face was drawn and terrified, and in spite
of the fearful cold and biting frost, perspiration stood out upon his
forehead.

It was broad daylight now. Another wolf attacked from the front and
fell under the axe. A little longer they parleyed. They were gradually
growing more bold and narrowing the circle--coming so close that they
were almost within reach of the swinging weapon. Finally a wolf on the
right, and one on the left, charged at the same time, and in an
instant those in front, as though acting upon a prearranged signal,
closed in, and the pack became one snarling, fighting, clamouring
mass.

When the sun broke over the eastern horizon a little later it looked
upon a circle of flat-tramped, blood-stained snow, over which were
scattered bare picked human bones and pieces of torn clothing. A pack
of wolves trotted leisurely away over the marsh.

In the woods not a mile distant two Indian hunters were following the
trail that led to Bob's unconscious body.

[Illustration: "Micmac John knew his end had come"]




XI

THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRAIL