For two hours Bram led his pack straight into the west. The night
cleared after that, and as the stars grew brighter and more
numerous in the sky the plain was lighted up on all sides of them,
as on the night when Philip had first seen Bram. By lighting an
occasional match Philip continued to keep a record of direction
and time. It was three o'clock, and they were still traveling
west, when to his surprise they struck a small patch of timber.
The clump of stunted and wind-snarled spruce covered no more than
half an acre, but it was conclusive evidence they were again
approaching a timber-line.

From the patch of spruce Bram struck due north, and for another
hour their trail was over the white Barren. Soon after this they
came to a fringe of scattered timber which grew steadily heavier
and deeper as they entered into it. They must have penetrated
eight or ten miles into the forest before the dawn came. And in
that dawn, gray and gloomy, they came suddenly upon a cabin.

Philip's heart gave a jump. Here, at last, would the mystery of
the golden snare be solved. This was his first thought. But as
they drew nearer, and stopped at the threshold of the door, he
felt sweep over him an utter disappointment. There was no life
here. No smoke came from the chimney and the door was almost
buried in a huge drift of snow. His thoughts were cut short by the
crack of Bram's whip. The wolves swept onward and Bram's insane
laugh sent a weird and shuddering echo through the forest.

From the time they left behind them the lifeless and snow-
smothered cabin Philip lost account of time and direction. He
believed that Bram was nearing the end of his trail. The wolves