tightened about his shoulders, and she looked ahead over the backs of the
wolfish pack, shivering as she thought of what Uppy would do could he
guess her loss. But he was running now for his life, driven on by his
fear of her unerring marksmanship--and Wapi. She looked over her
shoulder. Wapi was there, a huge gray shadow twenty paces behind. And she
thought she heard a shout!

Peter was speaking to her. "Blake's dogs are tired," he was saying. "They
were just about to camp, and ours have had a rest. Perhaps--"

"We shall beat them!" she interrupted him. "See how fast we are going,
Peter! It is splendid!"

A rifle-shot sounded behind them. It was not far away, and involuntarily
she clutched him tighter. Peter reached up a hand.

"Give me the revolver, Dolores."

"No," she protested. "They are not going to overtake us."

"You must give me the revolver," he insisted.

"Peter, I can't. You understand, I can't. I must keep the revolver."

She looked back again. There was no doubt now. Their pursuers were
drawing nearer. She heard a voice, the la-looing of running Eskimos, a
faint shout which she knew was a white man's shout--and another rifle
shot. Wapi was running nearer. He was almost at the tail of the sledge,
and his red eyes were fixed on her as he ran.