the caribou would almost reach the timber a mile away before the
end came. Concealed in the shadow of the spruce, he waited. He
made no effort to analyze the confidence with which he watched for
Bram. When he at last heard the curious ZIP--ZIP--ZIP of snowshoes
approaching his blood ran no faster than it had in the preceding
minutes of his expectation, so sure had he been that the man he
was after would soon loom up out of the starlight. In the brief
interval after the passing of the wolves he had made up his mind
what he would do. Fate had played a trump card into his hand. From
the first he had figured that strategy would have much to do in
the taking of Bram, who would be practically unassailable when
surrounded by the savage horde which, at a word from him, had
proved themselves ready to tear his enemies into pieces. Now, with
the wolves gorging themselves, his plan was to cut Bram off and
make him, a prisoner.

From his knees he rose slowly to his feet, still hidden in the
shadow of the spruce. His rifle he discarded. In his un-mittened
hand he held his revolver. With staring eyes he looked for Bram
out where the wolves had passed. And then, all at once, came the
shock. It was tremendous. The trickery of sound on the Barren had
played an unexpected prank with his senses, and while he strained
his eyes to pierce the hazy starlight of the plain far out, Bram
himself loomed up suddenly along the edge of the bush not twenty
paces away.

Philip choked back the cry on his lips, and in that moment Bram
stopped short, standing full in the starlight, his great lungs
taking in and expelling air with a gasping sound as he listened
for his wolves. He was a giant of a man. A monster, Philip