the cold northland dawn had broken when stane was roused from his sleep by the voice of his companion.

"m'sieu! m'sieu! it ees time to eat!"

stane rubbed his eyes and looked round. then he stood upright and stretched himself, every stiff muscle crying out against the process. he looked at the waiting breakfast and then at bènard. one glance at the drawn face of the latter told him that he had not slept, but he refrained from comment on the fact, knowing well what thoughts must have made sleep impossible for him.

"have you seen anything yet, jean?" he asked as he seated himself again.

"not yet, m'sieu," answered the trapper. "but eef chief george did not lie we cannot miss chigmok—an zee oders."

"but if he lied?" asked stane with a sudden accession of anxiety.

"then we shall haf to range an' find zee trail. but i do not tink he lie. he too mooch afraid! eat, m'sieu, den we can watch zee lak' for zee comin' of chigmok."

stane ate his breakfast quickly, and when he had finished, accompanied bènard a little way up the trail, which running along the base of the cliff by which they had camped, made a sudden turn between the rocks and unexpectedly opened out on a wide view.

before him lay the snow-covered lake of the little moose, a narrow lake perhaps fifteen miles long. on one side ran a range of high rocky hills, a spur of which formed his own vantage place, and on the other side were lower hills covered with bush and trees almost to their crests. from the height where he stood he had an almost bird's-eye view of the lake, and he examined it carefully. nothing moved on its virgin surface of snow. it was as blank as modred's shield. he examined the shore at the foot of the wood-covered hills carefully. creek by creek, bay by bay, his eye searched the shore-line for any sign of life. he found none, nowhere was there any sign of life; any thin column of smoke betokening the presence of man. he looked at the other shore of the lake, though without any expectation of finding that which he sought. it was bleak and barren, and precipitous in places, where the hills seemed to rise directly from the lake's edge. nothing moved there, and a single glance told him that the land trail on that side was an impossibility. he looked at his companion.

"dey haf not yet arrive," said bènard, answering his unspoken question. "dey camp in zee woods for zee night."

"if chief george lied——"

"i say again i tink he not lie. we must haf zee patience, m'sieu. dere is noding else dat we can do. we are here an' we must watch."

the minutes passed slowly, and to keep themselves from freezing the two men were forced to do sentry-go on the somewhat narrow platform where they stood, occasionally varying the line of their short march by turning down the trail towards their camp, a variation which for perhaps a couple of minutes hid the lake from view. every time they so turned, when the lake came in sight again, stane looked down its length with expectation in his eyes, and every time he was disappointed. an hour passed and still they watched without any sign of their quarry to cheer them. then jean bènard spoke.

"we tire ourselves for noding, m'sieu. we walk, walk, walk togeder, an' when chigmok come we too tired to follow heem. it ees better dat we watch in turn."

stane admitted the wisdom of this, and since he felt that it was impossible for himself to sit still, and suspected that his companion was sadly in need of rest, he elected to keep the first watch.

"very well, jean, do you go and rest first; but tell me before you go where the party we are looking for should strike the lake."

"ah, i forgot to tell you dat, m'sieu." he pointed towards the southern shore of the lake, where a small tree-covered island stood about half a mile from the shore. "you see zee island, m'sieu. just opposite dere ees a creek. zee regular trail comes out to zee lak' just dere, an' it ees dere dat you may look for zee comin' of chigmok."

stane looked at the island and marked the position of the creek, then an idea struck him. "would it not be better, bènard, if we removed our camp to the island? we could then surprise chigmok when he came."

"non, m'sieu! i tink of dat las' night; but i remember dat we must build a fire, an' zee smoke it tell zee tale; whilst zee odour it ees perceived afar. den zee dogs, dey give tongue when oder dogs appear, an' where are we? anoder ting, s'pose chigmok not come zee regular trail; s'pose he knew anoder way through zee woods, an' come out further up zee lak'. eef we on zee island we not see heem, but up here—" he swept a hand in front of him—"we behold zee whole lak' and we not miss him."

"yes," agreed stane. "you are right, jean. now go and rest. i will keep a bright look-out."

"i not doubt dat, m'sieu. you haf zee prize to watch for, but i——"

he turned away without finishing his sentence, and stane resumed his sentry go, stopping from time to time to view the long expanse of the snow-covered lake, and to search the woods along the shore. as the time passed without bringing any change, and as the unbroken surface of the snow mocked him with its emptiness, he grew sick at heart, and a feverish anxiety mounted within him. he felt utterly helpless, and a fear that chief george had lied, and had deliberately misled them, grew in him till it reached the force of conviction. watching that empty valley of the lake, he felt, was a waste of time. to be doing nothing, when helen was being hurried to be knew not what fate, was torture to him. it would, he thought, be better to go back on their trail, and endeavour to pick up that of the kidnappers, since that way they would at least be sure that they were on the right lines. so strongly did this idea appeal to him, that he turned down the trail to the camp to propose the plan to his companion. but when he turned the corner of the cliff, it was to find jean bènard fast asleep in front of the fire, and though his first impulse was to waken him, he refrained, remembering how tired the man must be, and how necessary it was that he should be as fresh as possible when the moment for action arrived.

"no," he whispered, as he looked at the bent form of the sleeping man. "i will wait one hour, and then we will decide."

he himself was beginning to feel the strain of the steady marching to and fro, and decided that it would be wise to spare himself as much as possible. accordingly he seated himself by the fire, contenting himself by walking to the top of the trail to view the lake at intervals of from twelve to fifteen minutes. twice he did this and the second time was made aware of a change in the atmosphere. it had grown much colder and as he turned the corner of the cliff a gust of icy-wind smote him in the face. he looked downwards. the surface of the lake was still barren of life; but not of movement. films of snow, driven by the gusty wind, drove down its narrow length, were lifted higher and then subsided as the wind fell. overhead the sky was of a uniform leaden hue and he knew that before long there would be snow. and if snow came——

his heart stood almost still at the thought. it might snow for days, and in the storm, when all trails would be obliterated it would be an easy matter to miss helen and her captors altogether. as he returned to the fire, his mind was full of forebodings. he was afraid, and though jean bènard slept on, he himself could not rest. he made up the fire, prepared bacon and moose meat for cooking, set some coffee to boil. it would be as well to have a meal in case the necessity for a start should arise. these things done he went once more to the outlook, and surveyed the snow-covered landscape. the wind was still for the moment, and there were no wandering wisps of snow. his first glance was towards the creek opposite the island. there was nothing there to arrest attention. his eyes travelled further without any light of expectation in them. creek by creek, bay by bay, he followed the shore line, then, in a second, his gaze grew fixed. the lake was no longer devoid of life. far-off, at least ten miles, as he swiftly calculated, a blur of black dots showed on the surface of the snow. instantly he knew it for what it was—a team of sled dogs. his heart leaped at the sight, and the next moment he was running towards the camp.

"jean! jean!" he cried. "jean bènard!"

the sleeping man passed from slumber to full wakefulness with the completeness that characterizes a healthy child.

"ah, m'sieu," he said, standing upright. "dey haf arrive?"

"i do not know. but there is a dog-train a long way up the lake."

"i weel tak' one look," said the trapper, beginning to walk quickly towards the head of the trail.

stane went with him and indicated the direction.

"there, where the shore sweeps inward! do you see, jean?"

"oui, m'sieu."

with bent brows the trapper stared at the blur of dots on the white surface, and after a couple of seconds began to count softly to himself. "un, deux, trois, quatre——" then he stopped. "four dogs and one man," he said, turning to his companion. "but chigmok it ees not. behold, m'sieu, he comes dis way."

"then who——"

"dat ees not to be told. zee men in zee wilderness are many." as he finished speaking a gust of wind drove suddenly in their faces, bringing with it a few particles of snow, and he looked up into the leaden sky. "presently," he said, "it weel snow, m'sieu. let us go and eat, then eef chigmok has not appeared we weel go meet dat man out dere. he may haf zee news."

reluctantly stane turned with him, and went back to the camp. he had no desire for food, but he forced himself to eat, and when the meal was finished he assisted his companion to load the sledge. then bènard spoke again.

"we weel tak' one look more, m'sieu, before we harness zee dogs."

they went up to the outlook together. the lake once more showed its white expanse unbroken; the little blot of moving dots having withdrawn. stane stared on the waste, with an expression of blank dismay upon his face, then he turned to his companion.

"zee man, he camp," explained bènard. "he not pushed for time, an' he know it snow b'fore long. we find heem, m'sieu, an' den—by gar! look dere!"

as he gave vent to the exclamation, he pointed excitedly up the lake, two miles beyond the island, the neighbourhood of which stane had gazed at so often and hopelessly during the last three hours. a dog-train had broken from the wood, and taken to the surface of the lake, three men accompanying it.

"chigmok! behold, m'sieu!"

on a mutual impulse they turned and running back to the camp, began hurriedly to harness the dogs to the sledge. a few minutes later they were on the move, and turning the corner of the cliff began the descent towards the lake. as they did so both glanced at the direction of the sled they were pursuing. it was moving straight ahead, fairly close in shore, having evidently sought the level surface of the lake for easier travelling. more than that they had not leisure to notice, for the descent to the lake was steep, and it required the weight and skill of both to keep the sled from overrunning the dogs, but in the space of four minutes it was accomplished, and with a final rush they took the level trail of the lake's frozen and snow-covered surface. as they did so a gust of wind brought a scurry of snow in their faces, and bènard looked anxiously up into the sky.

"by-an'-by it snow like anythin', m'sieu. we must race to catch chigmok b'fore it come."

without another word he stepped ahead, and began to make the trail for the dogs, whilst stane took the gee-pole to guide the sledge. bènard bent to his task and made a rattling pace, travelling in a bee-line for their quarry, since the lake's surface offered absolutely no obstructions. stane at the gee-pole wondered how long he could keep it up, and from time to time glanced at the sled ahead, which, seen from the same level, now was half-hidden in a mist of snow. he noted with satisfaction that they seemed to be gaining on it; and rejoiced to think that, as jean bènard's dogs were in fine mettle and absolutely fresh, they could not be long before they overhauled it. presently the trapper stopped to rest, and stane himself moved ahead.

"i will take a turn at trail-breaking," he said, "and do you run behind, jean."

it was a different matter going ahead of the dogs on the unbroken snow. in a little time his muscles began to ache intolerably. it seemed as if the ligaments of the groin were being pulled by pincers, and the very bone of the leg that he had broken, seemed to burn with pain. but again, as on the previous night, he set his teeth, and defied the dreaded mal de roquette. new hope sustained him; before him, within sight as he believed, was the girl, whom, in the months of their wilderness sojourn, he had learned to love, and who on the previous night (how long ago it seemed!) in the face of imminent death, had given herself to him unreservedly. his blood quickened at the remembrance. he ignored the pangs he was enduring. the sweat, induced by the violent exertion froze on eyebrows and eyelashes, but he ignored the discomfort, and pressed on, the snow swirling past his ankles in a miniature storm. twice or thrice he lifted his bent head and measured the distance between him and the quarry ahead. it was, he thought nearer, and cheered, he bent his body again to the nerve-racking toil.

half an hour passed, and though the wind was rising steadily, blowing straight in their teeth and adding greatly to their labours, the snow kept off. they were still gaining slowly, creeping forward yard by yard, the men with the train ahead apparently unaware of their pursuit. then they struck the trail made by their quarry and the work became less arduous and the pace quickened.

"by gar!" cried bènard as they hit the trail, "we get dem now, dey make zee trail for us."

"yes," answered stane, his eyes ablaze with excitement.

a mile and three quarters now separated the two teams, and as they followed in the trail that the others had to make, their confidence seemed justified. but nature and man alike were to take a hand and upset their calculations. in the wind once more there came a smother of snow. it was severe whilst it lasted, and blotted out all vision of the team ahead. as it cleared, the two pursuers saw that their quarry had turned inshore, moving obliquely towards a tree-crowned bluff that jutted out into the lake. jean bènard marked the move, and spoke almost gleefully.

"dey fear zee snow, an' go to make camp. by zee mass, we get dem like a wolf in zee trap!"

the sledge they pursued drew nearer the bluff, then suddenly jean bènard threw back his head in a listening attitude.

"hark!" he cried: "what was dat?"

"i heard nothing," answered stane. "what did you fancy you——"

the sentence was never finished, for borne to him on the wind came two or three sharp sounds like the cracks of distant rifles. he looked at his companion.

"the detonation of bursting trees far in the wood," he began, only to be interrupted.

"non, non! not zee trees, but rifles, look dere, m'sieu, someting ees happening."

it certainly seemed so. the sled which had almost reached the bluff, had swung from it again, and had turned towards the open lake. but now, instead of three figures, they could see only one; and even whilst they watched, again came the distant crack of a rifle—a faint far-away sound, something felt by sensitive nerves rather than anything heard—and the solitary man left with the sledge and making for the sanctuary of the open lake, plunged suddenly forward, disappearing from sight in the snow. another fusillade, and the sled halted, just as the two men broke from the cover of the bluff and began to run across the snow in the direction of it.

"by gar! by gar!" cried jean bènard in great excitement. "tings dey happen. dere are oder men who want chigmok, an' dey get heem, too."

then with a clamouring wind came the snow, blotting out all further vision of the tragedy ahead. it hurtled about them in fury, and they could see scarcely a yard in front of them. it was snow that was vastly different from the large soft flakes of more temperate zones—a wild rain of ice-like particles that, as it struck, stung intolerably, and which, driven in the wind, seemed like a solid sheet held up to veil the landscape. it swirled and drifted about them and drove in their faces as if directed by some malevolent fury. it closed their eyes, clogged their feet, stopped their breathing, and at the moment when it was most essential, made progress impossible. dogs and men bowed to the storm, and after two minutes of lost endeavour in attempting to face it, the course was altered and they raced for the shore and the friendly shelter of the trees. when they reached it, breathless and gasping, they stood for a moment, whilst the storm shrieked among the tree-tops and drove its icy hail like small shot against the trunks. in the shelter of one of them, stane, as his breath came back to him, swung his rifle off his shoulder, and began to strip from it the deer-hide covering. jean bènard saw him, and in order to make himself heard shouted to him.

"what you do, m'sieu?"

"i'm going after them, jean. there's something badly wrong."

"oui! but with zee storm, what can you do, m'sieu?"

"i can find that girl," he said. "think, man, if she is bound to the sled—in this——"

"oui! oui! m'sieu, i understand, but——"

"i shall work my way in the cover of the trees till i reach the bluff. if the storm abates you will follow but do not pass the bluff. there will be shelter in the lee of it, and i will wait your coming there."

"go, and god go with you, m'sieu; but do not forget zee rifles which were fired dere."

"i will keep them in mind," answered stane, and then setting his face to the storm, he began to work his way along the edge of the wood.