death in being a witness of the suffering of the woman who had
remained loyal to him. Billy's heart went out to them in a low,
yearning cry as he looked at the balsam bed and the black char of the
fire. He wished that he could give them, life and freedom and
happiness, and his hands clenched tightly as he thought that he was
willing to surrender everything, even to his own honor, for the woman
he loved.

Fifteen minutes after he had struck the shelter of the camp he was
again in pursuit. His blood leaped a little excitedly when he found
that Scottie Deane's trail was now almost as straight as a plumb-line
and that the sledge no longer became entangled in hidden windfalls and
brush. It was proof that it was light when Deane and Isobel had left
their camp. Isobel was walking now, and their sledge was traveling
faster. Billy encouraged his own pace, and over two or three open
spaces he broke into a long, swinging run. The trail was comparatively
fresh, and at the end of another hour he knew that they could not be
far ahead of him. He had followed through a thin swamp and had climbed
to the top of a rough ridge when he stopped. Isobel had reached the
bald cap of the ridge exhausted. The last twenty yards he could see
where Deane had assisted her; and then she had dropped down in the
snow, and he had placed a blanket under her. They had taken a drink of
tea made back over the fire, and a little of it had fallen into the
snow. It had not yet formed ice, and instinctively he dropped behind a
rock and looked down into the wooded valley at his feet. In a few
moments he began to descend.

He had almost reached the foot of the ridge when he brought himself
short with a sudden low cry of horror. He had reached a point where
the side of the ridge seemed to have broken off, leaving a precipitous