Ambition and hope had run high in many valiant hearts until it was
generally conceded that Bram was dead.

Philip was not thinking of the sergeantcy as he kept steadily
along the edge of the Barren. His service would shortly be up, and
he had other plans for the future. From the moment his fingers had
touched the golden strand of hair he had been filled with a new
and curious emotion. It possessed him even more strongly to-day
than it had last night. He had not given voice to that emotion, or
to the thoughts it had roused, even to Pierre. Perhaps he was
ridiculous. But he possessed imagination, and along with that a
great deal of sympathy for animals--and some human beings. He had,
for the time, ceased to be the cool and calculating man-hunter
intent on the possession of another's life. He knew that his duty
was to get Bram and take him back to headquarters, and he also
knew that he would perform his duty when the opportunity came--
unless he had guessed correctly the significance of the golden
snare.

And had he guessed correctly? There was a tremendous doubt in his
mind, and yet he was strangely thrilled. He tried to argue that
there were many ways in which Bram might have secured the golden
hairs that had gone into the making of his snare; and that the
snare itself might long have been carried as a charm against the
evils of disease and the devil by the strange creature whose mind
and life were undoubtedly directed to a large extent by
superstition. In that event it was quite logical that Bram had
come into possession of his golden talisman years ago.

In spite of himself, Philip could not believe that this was so. At