"You no touch ze gun, m'sieu. Why you no shoot when I am there--at
head of pack?"

The calmness and directness with which Bram put the question after
his long and unaccountable silence surprised Philip.

"For the same reason you didn't kill me when I was asleep, I
guess," he said. Suddenly he reached out and caught Bram's arm.
"Why the devil don't you come across!" he demanded. "Why don't you
talk? I'm not after you--now. The Police think you are dead, and I
don't believe I'd tip them off even if I had a chance. Why not be
human? Where are we going? And what in thunder--"

He did not finish. To his amazement Bram flung back his head,
opened his great mouth, and laughed. It was not a taunting laugh.
There was no humor in it. The thing seemed beyond the control of
even Bram himself, and Philip stood like one paralyzed as his
companion turned quickly to the sledge and returned in a moment
with the gun. Under Philip's eyes he opened the breech. The
chamber was empty. Bram had placed in his way a temptation--to
test him!

There was saneness in that stratagem--and yet as Philip looked at
the man now his last doubt was gone. Bram Johnson was hovering on
the borderland of madness.

Replacing the gun on the sledge, Bram began hacking off chunks of
the caribou flesh with a big knife. Evidently he had decided that
it was time for himself and his pack to breakfast. To each of the