out of this stuck the crude handle of an ax.

Of these things the gun and the white bear skin impressed Philip
most. He had only to lean forward a little to reach the rifle, and
the thought that he could scarcely miss the broad back of the man
ahead of him struck him all at once with a sort of mental shock.
Bram had evidently forgotten the weapon, or was utterly confident
in the protection of the pack. Or--had he faith in his prisoner?
It was this last question that Philip would liked to have answered
in the affirmative. He had no desire to harm Bram. He had even a
less desire to escape him. He had forgotten, so far as his
personal intentions were concerned, that he was an agent of the
Law--under oath to bring in to Divisional Headquarters Bram's body
dead or alive. Since night before last Bram had ceased to be a
criminal for him. He was like Pelletier, and through him he was
entering upon a strange adventure which held for him already the
thrill and suspense of an anticipation which he had never
experienced in the game of man-hunting.

Had the golden snare been taken from the equation--had he not felt
the thrill of it in his fingers and looked upon the warm fires of
it as it lay unbound on Pierre Breault's table, his present
relation with Bram Johnson he would have considered as a purely
physical condition, and he might then have accepted the presence
of the rifle there within his reach as a direct invitation from
Providence.

As it was, he knew that the master of the wolves was speeding
swiftly to the source of the golden snare. From the moment he had
seen the strange transformation it had worked in Bram that belief