at home in the trackless wild. He passed places where he had often camped in former days, and where he had set his traps. The old longing for the chase came upon him, and his eyes kindled when he came to a spot where he had killed a lordly moose or battled with a fierce grizzly. But he was on a greater quest now, so he could not afford to delay.
As the morning drew on to midday, Tom’s steps began to lag. He was growing weary, and ere long he was forced at times to stop to rest. Lack of food and the excitement of the previous night were telling upon him. He knew that he had only a few miles more to go, so by carefully conserving his strength he should be able to reach the patrol-house. His indomitable spirit stood him in good stead now, so bravely he pressed forward.
The last mile proved the hardest of all, and his progress was exceptionally slow as he climbed another hill and paused on the summit. Down in the valley below was the police trail with the patrol-house nestling in the midst of a thicket of firs and jack-pines. Toward this he slowly moved, and at length the squat log shack appeared in sight. To his surprise he saw smoke issuing from the pipe stuck through the roof, telling him that there was someone ahead of him, and occupying the place. Perhaps the Police were there, and he hoped such was the case, as they would be of great service to him now.
Reaching at length the building, he kicked off his snow-shoes, pushed open the door and entered. The room was warm, and for a few seconds it seemed very dark. As he stood there, peering keenly around, a groan arrested his attention. Then a muttering sound came from the corner to the right of the stove. Tom stepped
