hatred burned in the corporal's eyes as he stared into Billy's face.
Billy ignored the look, and shook hands with the other men. One of
them was a Hudson's Bay Company's driver, and the other was Constable
Walker, from Churchill.

"Thought we'd never live to reach shelter," gasped Walker, as they
shook hands. "We're out after Scottie Deane, and we ain't losing a
minute. We're going to get him, too. His trail is so hot we can smell
it. My God, but I'm bushed!"

The dogs, with the company man at their head, were already making for
the camp. Billy grinned at the corporal as they followed.

"Had a pretty good chance to get me, if you'd been alone, didn't you,
Bucky?" he asked, in a voice that Walker did not hear. "You see, I
haven't forgotten your threat."

There was a steely hardness behind his laugh. He knew that Bucky Smith
was a scoundrel whose good fortune was that he had never been found
out in some of his evil work. In a flash his mind traveled back to
that day at Norway House when Rousseau, the half Frenchman, had come
to him from a sick-bed to tell him that Bucky had ruined his young
wife. Rousseau, who should have been in bed with his fever, died two
days later. Billy could still hear the taunt in Bucky's voice when he
had cornered him with Rousseau's accusation, and the fight had
followed. The thought that this man was now close after Isobel and
Deane filled him with a sort of rage, and as Walker went ahead he laid
a hand on Bucky's arm.

"I've been thinking about you of late, Bucky," he said. "I've been