Fort o' God. There had been no excuse for falsehood.

He purposely directed his movements so that he would not come into
contact with Gregson, little dreaming that his artist friend was
working under the same formula. He lunched with the factor, and a
little later went boldly back to the cliff where he had met Jeanne
and Pierre the preceding night. Although he had now come to expect
no response to what he had written, he carefully examined the
rocks about him. Then he set out through the forest in the
direction from which had come the howling of the wolf-dog.

He searched until late in the afternoon, but found no signs of a
recent camp. For several miles he followed the main trail that led
northward from Fort Churchill. He crossed three times through the
country between this trail and the edge of the Bay, searching for
smoke from the top of every ridge that he climbed, listening for
any sound that might give him a clue. He visited the shack of an
old half-breed deep in the forest beyond the cliff, but its aged
tenant could give him no information. He had not seen Pierre and
Jeanne, nor had he heard the howling of their dog.

Tired and disappointed, Philip returned to Churchill. He went
directly to his cabin and found Gregson waiting for him. There was
a curious look in the artist's face as he gazed questioningly at
his friend. His immaculate appearance was gone. He looked like one
who had passed through an uncomfortable hour or two. Perspiration
had dried in dirty streaks on his face, and his hands were buried
dejectedly in his trousers pockets. He rose to his feet and stood
before his companion.