THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 1^. 
 
 
 Two shining muzzles were leveled at his breast
 
 STEELE OF THE 
 ROYAL MOUNTED 
 
 (PHILIP STEELE) 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD 
 
 McKINLAY, STONE & MACKENZIE 
 
 NEW YORK
 
 Copyright. 1911 
 COSMOPOLITAN BOOK CotrotATiox
 
 TO MY WIFE 
 
 657355
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE HYACINTH LETTER ... 1 
 
 II A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT ... 14 
 
 III A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION ... 36 
 
 IV THE SILKEN SCARF 54 
 
 V BEAUTY-PROOF 68 
 
 VI PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE . . 82 
 
 VII THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN . . . 100 
 
 VIII ANOTHER LETTER FOR PHILIP . . . 125 
 
 IX PHILIP TAKES UP THE TRAIL ... 136 
 
 X ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE . . . 150 
 
 XI THE LAW VERSUS THE MAN . . . 174 
 
 XII THE FIGHT AND A STRANGE VISITOR . 191 
 
 XIII THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT . . . 209 
 
 XIV WHAT CAME OF THE GREAT LOVE EX 
 
 PERIMENT 229 
 
 XV PHILIP'S LAST ASSIGNMENT . . . 255 
 
 XVI A LOCK OF GOLDEN HAIR . . . 265 
 
 XVII THE GIRL IN THE WRECK . . . 276 
 
 XVIII THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON , , 286
 
 PHILIP STEELE
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE HYACINTH LETTER 
 
 PHILIP STEELE'S pencil drove steadily 
 over the paper, as if the mere writing of 
 a letter he might never mail in some way less 
 ened the loneliness. 
 
 The wind is blowing a furious gale outside. 
 From off the lake come volleys of sleet, like 
 shot from guns, and all the wild demons of 
 this black night in the wilderness seem bent on 
 tearing apart the huge end-locked logs that 
 form my cabin home. In truth, it is a terrible 
 night to be afar from human companionship, 
 with naught but this roaring desolation about 
 and the air above filled with screeching terrors. 
 Even through thick log walls I can hear the 
 surf roaring among the rocks and beating the 
 I
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 white driftwood like a thousand battering- 
 rams, almost at my door. It is a night to make 
 one shiver, and in the lulls of the storm the tall 
 pines above me whistle and waif mournfully as 
 they straighten their twisted heads after the 
 blasts. 
 
 To-morrow this will be a desolation of snow. 
 There will be snow from here to Hudson's 
 Bay, from the Bay to the Arctic, and where 
 now there is all this fury and strife of wind 
 and sleet there will be unending quiet the 
 stillness which breeds our tongueless people of 
 the North. But this is small comfort for to 
 night. Yesterday I caught a little mouse in my 
 flour and killed him. I am sorry now, for 
 surely all this trouble and thunder in the night 
 would have driven him out from his home in 
 the wall to keep me company. 
 
 It would not be so bad if it were not for th- 
 skull. Three times in the last half-hour I hare 
 started to take it down from its shelf over my 
 crude stone fireplace, where pine logs are blaz- 
 
 2
 
 THE HYACINTH LETTER 
 
 ing. But each time I have fallen back, shiver 
 ing, into the bed-like chair I have made for 
 myself out of saplings and caribou skin. It is 
 a human skull. Only a short time ago it was a 
 living man, with a voice, and eyes, and brain 
 and that is what makes me uncomfortable. If 
 it were an old skull, it would be different. But 
 it is a new skull. Almost I fancy at times that 
 there is life lurking in the eyeless sockets, 
 where the red firelight from the pitch-weighted 
 logs plays in grewsome flashes; and I fancy, 
 too, that in the brainless cavities of the skull 
 there must still be some of the old passion, 
 stirred into spirit life by the very madness of 
 this night. A hundred times I have been sorry 
 that I kept the thing, but never more so than 
 now. 
 
 How the wind howls and the pines screech 
 abov~ me! A pailful of snow, plunging down 
 my chimney, sends the chills up my spine as if 
 it were the very devil himself, and the steam 
 of it surges out and upward and hides the 
 3
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 skull. It is absurd to go to bed, to make an 
 effort to sleep, for I know what my dreams 
 would be. To-night they would be rilled with 
 this skull and with visions of a face, a worn 
 an's face 
 
 Thus far had Steele written, when with a 
 nervous laugh he sprang from his chair, and 
 with something that sounded very near to an 
 oath, in the wild tumult of the storm, crum 
 pled the paper in his hand and flung it among 
 the blazing logs he had described but a few 
 moments before. 
 
 "Confound it, this will never do!" he ex 
 claimed, falling into his own peculiar habit of 
 communing with himself. "I say it won't do, 
 Phil Steele; deuce take it if it will! You're 
 getting nervous, sentimental, almost homesick. 
 Ugh, what a beast of a night !" 
 
 He turned to the rude stone fireplace again 
 as another blast of snow plunged down the 
 chimney. 
 
 4
 
 THE HYACINTH LETTER 
 
 "Wish I'd built a fire in the stove instead of 
 there," he went on, filling his pipe. "Thought 
 it would be a little more cheerful, you know. 
 Lord preserve us, listen to that !" 
 
 He began walking up and down the hewn 
 log floor of the cabin, his hands deep in his 
 pockets, puffing out voluminous clouds of 
 smoke. It was not often that Philip Steele's 
 face was unpleasant to look upon, but to-night 
 it wore anything but its natural good humor. 
 It was a strong, thin face, set off by a square 
 jaw, and with clear, steel-gray eyes in which 
 just now there shone a strange glitter, as they 
 rested for a moment upon the white skull over 
 the fire. From his scrutiny of the skull Steele 
 turned to a rough board table, lighted by a 
 twisted bit of cotton cloth, three-quarters sub 
 merged in a shallow tin of caribou grease. In 
 the dim light of this improvised lamp there 
 were two letters, opened and soiled, which an 
 Indian had brought up to him from Nelson 
 House the day before. One of them was short 
 5
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 and to the point. It was an official note from 
 headquarters ordering him to join a certain 
 Buck Nome at Lac Bain, a hundred miles far 
 ther north. 
 
 It was the second letter which Steele took in 
 his hands for the twentieth time since it had 
 come to him here, three hundred miles into the 
 wilderness. There were half-a-dozen pages of 
 it, written in a woman's hand, and from it there 
 rose to his nostrils the faint, sweet perfume of 
 hyacinth. It was this odor that troubled him 
 that had troubled him since yesterday, and 
 that made him restless and almost homesick to 
 night. It took him back to things to the days 
 of not so very long ago when he had been a 
 part of the life from which the letter came, and 
 when the world had seemed to hold for him all 
 that one could wish. In a retrospective flash 
 there passed before him a vision of those days 
 when he, Mr. Philip Steele, son of a multi 
 millionaire banker, was one of the favored few 
 in the social life of a great city; when fashion* 
 6
 
 THE HYACINTH LETTER 
 
 able clubs opened their doors to him, and beau 
 tiful women smiled upon him, and when, 
 among others, this girl of the hyacinth letter 
 held out to him the tempting lure of her heart. 
 Her heart ? Or was it the tempting of his own 
 wealth? Steele laughed, and his strong white 
 teeth gleamed in a half -contemptuous smile as 
 he turned again toward the fi'-e. 
 
 He sat down, with the letter still in his 
 hands, and thought of some of those others 
 whom he had known. What had become of 
 Jack Moody, he wondered the good old Jack 
 of his college days, who had loved this girl of 
 the hyacinth with the whole of his big, honest 
 heart, but who hadn't been given half a show 
 because of his poverty? And where was 
 Whittemore, the young broker whose hopes 
 had fallen with his own financial ruin; and 
 Fordney, who would have cut off ten years of 
 his life for her and half-a-dozen others he 
 might name? 
 
 Her heart! Steele laughed softly as he 
 7
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 lifted the letter so that the sweet perfume of it 
 came to him more strongly. How she had 
 tempted him for a timel Almost that night 
 of the Hawkins' ball he had surrendered to 
 her. He half-closed his eyes, and as the logs 
 crackled in the fireplace and the wind roared 
 outside, he saw her again as he had seen her 
 that night gloriously beautiful; memory of 
 the witchery of her voice, her hair, her eyes 
 firing his blood like strong wine. And this 
 beauty might have been for him, was still his, 
 if he chose. A word from out of the wilder 
 ness, a few lines that he might write to-night 
 With a sudden jerk Steele sat bolt upright. 
 One after another he crumpled the sheets of 
 paper in his hand and tossed all but the signa 
 ture page into the fire. The last sheet he kept, 
 studied it for a little as if her name were the 
 answer to a problem then laid it aside. For 
 a few moments there remained still the haunt* 
 ing sweetness of the hyacinth. When it was 
 gone, he gave a last searching sniff, rose to his 
 8
 
 THE HYACINTH LETTER 
 
 feet with a laugh in which there was some re 
 turn of his old spirit, hid that final page of her 
 letter in his traveling kit and proceeded to re 
 fill his pipe. 
 
 More than once Philip Steele had told him 
 self thai he was born a century or two after his 
 time. He had admitted this much to a few of 
 his friends, and the> had laughed at him. One 
 evening he had opened his heart a little to the 
 girl of the hyacinth letter, and after thai she 
 had called him eccentric. Within himself he 
 knew that he was unlike other men, that the 
 blood in him was calling back to almost for* 
 gotten generations, when strong hearts and 
 steady hands counted for manhood rather than 
 stocks- and bonds, and when romance and ad- 
 venture were not quite dead. At college he 
 took civil engineering, because it seemed to him 
 to breathe the spirit of outdoors; and when he 
 had finished he incurred the wrath of those at 
 home by burying himself for a whole year with 
 a surveying expedition in Central America. 
 
 9
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 It was this expedition that put the finishing 
 touch to Philip Steele. He came back a big 
 hearted, clear minded young fellow, as bronzed 
 as an Aztec a hater of cities and the hot 
 house varieties of pleasure to which he had 
 been born, and as far removed from anticipa 
 tion of his father's millions as though they had 
 never been. He possessed a fortune in his own 
 right, but as yet he had found no use for the 
 income that was piling up. A second expedi' 
 tion, this time to Brazil, and then he came back 
 to meet the girl of the hyacinth letter. And 
 after that, after he had broken from the bond 
 age which held Moody, and Fordney, and 
 Whittemore, he went back to his many adven 
 tures. 
 
 It was the North that held him. In the un 
 ending desolations of snow and forest and 
 plain, between Hudson's Bay and the wild 
 Country of the Athabasca, he found the few 
 people and the mystery and romance which 
 carried him back, and linked him to the dust- 
 10
 
 THE HYACINTH LETTER 
 
 covered generations he had lost. One day a 
 slender, athletically built young man enlisted at 
 Regina for service in the Northwest Mounted 
 Police. Within six months he had made sev 
 eral records for himself, and succeeded in hav 
 ing himself detailed to service in the extreme 
 North, where man-hunting became the thrilling 
 game of One against One in an empty and 
 voiceless world. And no one, not even the girl 
 ef the hyacinth letter, would have dreamed 
 that the man who was officially listed as "Pri 
 vate Phil Steele, of the N. W. M. P.," was 
 Philip Steele, millionaire and gentleman ad 
 venturer. 
 
 None appreciated the humor of this fact 
 more than Steele himself, and he fell again into 
 his wholesome laugh as he placed a fresh pine 
 log on the fire, wondering what his aristocratic 
 friends and especially the girl of the hyacinth 
 letter would say if they could see him and hi: 
 environment just at the present moment. In a 
 slow, chuckling survey he took in the heavy 
 II
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 German socks which he had hung to dry close 
 to the fire; his worn shoe-packs, shining in a 
 thick coat of caribou grease, and his single suit 
 of steaming underwear that he had washed 
 after supper, and which hung suspended from 
 the ceiling, looking for all the world, in the 
 half dusk of the cabin, like a very thin and 
 headless man. In this gloom, indeed, but one 
 thing shone out white and distinct the skull 
 on the little shelf above the fire. As his eyes 
 rested on it, Steele's lips tightened and his face 
 grew dark. With a sudden movement he 
 reached up and took it in his hands, holding it 
 for a moment so that the light from the fire 
 flashed full upon it In the left side, on a line 
 with the eyeless socket and above the ear, was 
 a hole as large as a small egg. 
 
 "So I'm ordered up to join Nome, the man 
 who did this, eh?" he muttered, fingering the 
 'ragged edge. "I could kill him for what hap 
 pened down there at Nelson House, M'sieur 
 Janette. Some day I may." 
 
 12
 
 THE HYACINTH LETTER 
 
 He balanced the skull on his finger tips, level 
 with his chin. 
 
 "Nice sort of a chap for a Hamlet, I am," 
 he went on, whimsically. "I believe I'll chuck 
 you into the fire, M'sieur Janette. You're get 
 ting on my nerves." 
 
 He stopped suddenly and lowered the skull 
 to the table. 
 
 "No, I won't bum you," he continued. "I've 
 brought you this far and I'll pack yon up to Lac 
 Bain with me. Some morning I'll give you to 
 Bucky Nome for breakfast. And then, M'sieur 
 then we shall see what we shall see." 
 
 Later that night he wrote a few words on a 
 slip of paper and tacked the paper to the inside 
 of his door. To any who might follow in his 
 footsteps it conveyed this information and ad 
 vice: 
 
 NOTICE! 
 
 This cabin and what's in it are quasheed by 
 me. Fill your gizzard but not your pockets. 
 STEELE, Northwest Mounted. 
 
 U
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 STEELE came up to the Hudson's Bay 
 Company's post at Lac Bain on the sev 
 enth day after the big storm, and Breed, the 
 factor, confided two important bits of informa 
 tion to him while he was thawing out before 
 the big box-stove in the company's deserted 
 and supply-stripped store. The first was that 
 a certain Colonel Becker and his wife had left 
 Fort Churchill, on Hudson's Bay, to make a 
 visit at Lac Bain ; the second, that Buck Nome 
 had gone westward a week before and had not 
 returned. Breed was worried, not over Nome's 
 prolonged absence, but over the anticipated ar 
 rival of the other two. According to the letter 
 which had come to him from the Churchill 
 factor, Colonel Becker and his wife had coma 
 14
 
 A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 over on the last supply ship from London, and 
 the colonel was a high official in the company's 
 service. Also, he was an old gentleman. Os 
 tensibly he had no business at Lac Bain, but was 
 merely on a vacation, and wished to see a bit 
 of real life in the wilderness. 
 
 Breed's grizzled face was miserable. 
 
 "Why don't they send 'em down to York 
 Factory or Nelson House?" he demanded of 
 Steele. "They've got duck feathers, three 
 women, and a civilized factor at the Nelson, 
 and there ain't any of 'em here not even a 
 woman !" 
 
 Steele shrugged his shoulders as Breed men 
 tioned the three women at Nelson. 
 
 "There are only two women there now," he 
 replied. "Since a certain Bucky Nome passed 
 that way, one of them has gone into the South." 
 
 "Well, two, then," said Breed, who had not 
 caught the flash of fire in the other's eyes. "But 
 I tell you there ain't a one here, Steele, not even 
 in Indian and that dirty Cree, Jack, is doing 
 
 15
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 the cooking. Blessed Saints, I caught him 
 mixing biscuit dough in the wash basin the 
 other day, and I've been eating those biscuits 
 ever since our people went out to their trap- 
 lines! There's you, and Nome, two Crees, a 
 'half and myself and that's every soul there'll 
 be at Lac Bain until the mid-winter run of fur. 
 Now, what in Heaven's name is the poor old 
 Mrs. Colonel going to do ?" 
 
 "Got a bed for her?" 
 
 "A bunk hard as nails !" 
 
 "Good grub?" 
 
 "Rotten !" groaned the factor. "Every trap 
 per's son of them took out big supplies this fall 
 and we're stripped. Beans, flour, sugar'n' 
 prunes and caribou until I feel like turning 
 inside out every time I smell it. I'd give a 
 month's commission fora pound of pork. Look 
 here ! If this letter ain't 'quality' you can cut 
 me into jiggers. Bet the Mrs. Colonel wrote it 
 for her hubby." 
 
 From an inside pocket Breed drew forfoh a 
 16
 
 A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 square white envelope with a broken seal of 
 red wax, and from it extracted a folded sheet 
 of cream-tinted paper. Scarcely had Steele 
 taken the note in his hands when a quick thrill 
 passed through him. Before he had read the 
 first line he was conscious again of that haunt 
 ing sweetness in the air he breathed the per 
 fume of hyacinth. There was not only this 
 perfume, but the same paper, the same deli 
 cately pretty writing of the letter he had burned 
 more than a week before. He made no effort 
 to suppress the exclamation of astonishment 
 that broke from his lips. Breed was staring at 
 him when he lifted his eyes. 
 
 "This is a mighty strange coincidence, 
 Breed," he said, regaining his composure. "I 
 could almost swear that I know this writing, 
 and yet of course such a thing is impossible. 
 Still, it's mighty queer. Will you let me keep 
 the letter until to-night ? I'd like to take it over 
 to the cabin and compare it " 
 
 "Needn't return it at all," interrupted the 
 17
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 factor. "Hope you find something interesting 
 to tell me at supper five sharp. It will be a 
 blessing if you know 'em." 
 
 Ten minutes later Steele was in the little- 
 cabin which he and Nome occupied while at 
 Lac Bain. Jack, the Cree, had built a rousing 
 fire in the long sheet-iron stove, and as Steele 
 opened its furnace-like door, a flood of light 
 poured out into the gathering gloom of early 
 evening. Drawing a chair full into the light, 
 he again opened the letter. Line for line and 
 word for word he scrutinized the writing, and 
 with each breath that he drew he found himself 
 more deeply thrilled by a curious mental excite 
 ment which it was impossible for him to ex 
 plain. According to the letter, Colonel and Mrs. 
 Becker had arrived at Churchill aboard the 
 London ship a little over a month previously. 
 He remembered that the date on the letter from 
 the girl was six weeks old. At the time it was 
 written, Colonel Becker and his wife were 
 either in London or Liverpool, or crossing the 
 18
 
 A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 Atlantic. No matter how similar the two let 
 ters appeared to him, he realized that, under the 
 circumstances, the same person could not have 
 written them both. For many minutes he sat 
 oack in his chair, with his eyes half-closed, ab 
 sorbing the comforting heat of the fire. Again 
 the old vision returned to him. In a subcon 
 scious sort of way he found himself fighting 
 against it, as he had struggled a score of times 
 to throw off its presence, since the girl's letter 
 had come to him. And this time, as before, his 
 effort was futile. He saw her again and al 
 ways as on that night of the Hawkins' ball, 
 <yes and lips smiling at him, the light shining 
 gloriously in the deep red gold of her hair. 
 
 With an effort Steele aroused himself and 
 looked at his watch. It was a quarter of five. 
 He stooped to close the stove door, and stopped 
 suddenly, his hand reaching out, head and 
 shoulders hunched over. Across his knee, shin 
 ing in the firelight, like a thread of spun gold, 
 lay a single filament of a woman's hair.
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 He rose slowly, holding the hair between him 
 and the light. His fingers trembled, his breath 
 came quickly. The hair had fallen upon his 
 knee from the letter or the envelope, and it 
 was wonderfully like her hair ! 
 
 From the direction of the factor's quarters 
 came the deep bellowing of Breed's moose- 
 horn, calling him to supper. Before he re 
 sponded to it, Steele wound the silken thread of 
 gold about his finger, then placed it carefully 
 among the papers and cards which he carried in 
 his leather wallet. His face was flushed when 
 he joined the factor. Not since the night at 
 the Hawkins' ball, when he had felt the touch 
 of a beautiful woman's hands, the warmth of 
 her breath, the soft sweep of her hair against 
 his lips as he had leaned over her in his half- 
 surrender, had thought of woman stirred him 
 as he felt himself stirred now. He was glad 
 that Breed was too much absorbed in his own 
 troubles to observe any possible change in him 
 self or to ask questions about the letter. 
 
 20
 
 A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 "I tell you, it may mean the short birch for 
 me, Steele," said the factor gloomily. "Lac 
 Bain is just now the emptiest, most fallen-to- 
 pieces, unbusiness-like post between the Atha 
 basca and the Bay. We've had two bad seasons 
 running, and everything has gone wrong. Colo 
 nel Becker is a big one with the company. Ain't 
 no doubt about that, and ten to one he'll think 
 it's a new man that's wanted here." 
 
 "Nonsense!" exclaimed Steele. A sudden 
 flash shot into his face as he looked hard at 
 Breed. "See here, how would you like to have 
 me go out to meet them?" he asked. "Sort of 
 a welcoming committee of one, you know. Be 
 fore they got here I could casually give 'em to 
 understand what Lac Bain has been up against 
 during the last two seasons." 
 
 Breed's face brightened in an instant. 
 
 "That might save us, Steele. Will you do 
 it?" 
 
 "With pleasure." 
 
 Philip was conscious of an increasing 
 
 21
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 warmth in his face as he bent over his plate. 
 "You're sure they're elderly people?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "That is what MacVeigh wrote me from 
 Churchill; at least he said the colonel was an 
 old man." 
 
 "And his wife?" 
 
 "Has got her nerve," growled Breed irrev 
 erently. "It wouldn't be so bad if it was only 
 the colonel. But an old woman ugh ! What 
 he doesn't think of she'll remind him of, you 
 can depend on that." 
 
 Steele thought of his mother, who looked at 
 things through a magnifying lorgnette, and 
 laughed a little cheerlessly. 
 
 "I'll go out and meet them, anyway," he 
 comforted. "Have Jack fix me up for the hike 
 in the morning, Breed. I'll start after break 
 fast." 
 
 He was glad when supper was over and he 
 was back in his own cabin smoking his pipe. It 
 was almost with a feeling of shame that he took 
 
 22
 
 the golden hair from his wallet and held it once 
 more so that it shone before his eyes in the 
 firelight. 
 
 "You're crazy, Phil Steele," he assured him 
 self. "You're an unalloyed idiot. What the 
 deuce has Colonel Becker's wife got to do with 
 you even if she has golden hair and uses 
 cream-tinted paper soaked in hyacinth? Con 
 found it there!" and he released the shining 
 hair from his fingers so that the air currents 
 sent it floating back into the deeper gloom of 
 the cabin. 
 
 It was midnight before he went to bed. He 
 was up with the first cold gray of dawn. All 
 that day he strode steadily eastward on snow- 
 shoes, over the company's trail to the bay. Two 
 hours before dusk he put up his light tent, 
 gathered balsam for a bed, and built a fire of 
 dry spruce against the face of a huge rock in 
 front of his shelter. It was still light when he 
 wrapped himself in his blanket and lay down 
 on the balsam, with his feet stretched out to the 
 23
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 reflected heat of the big rock. It seemed to 
 Steele that there was an unnatural stillness in 
 the air, as the night thickened beyond the rim 
 of firelight, and, as the gloom grew still deeper, 
 blotting out his vision in inky blackness, there 
 crept over him slowly a feeling of loneliness. 
 It was a new sensation to Steele, and he shiv 
 ered as he sat up and faced the fire. It was this 
 same quiet, this same unending mystery of 
 voiceless desolation that had won him to the 
 North. Until to-night he had loved it. But 
 
 now there was something oppressive about it, 
 
 i 
 
 something that made him strain his eyes to see 
 
 beyond the rock and the fire, and set his ears 
 in tense listening for sounds which did not 
 exist. He knew that in this hour he was long 
 ing for companionship not that of Breed, nor 
 of men with whom he hunted men, but of men 
 and women whom he had once known and in 
 whose lives he had played a part ages ago, it 
 seemed to him. He knew, as he sat with 
 clenched hands and staring eyes, that chiefly 
 
 24
 
 A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 he was longing for a woman a woman whosa 
 eyes and lips and sunny hair haunted him after 
 months of forgetfulness, and whose face smiled 
 at him luringly, now, from out the leaping 
 flashes of fire tempting him, calling him over 
 a thousand miles of space. And if he yielded 
 
 The thought sent his nails biting into the 
 flesh of his palms and he sank back with a curse 
 that held more of misery than blasphemy. 
 Physical exhaustion rather than desire for sleep 
 closed his eyes, at last, in half -slumber, and 
 after that the face seemed nearer and more real 
 to him, until it was close at his side, and was 
 speaking to him. He heard again the soft, rip 
 pling laugh, girlishly sweet, that had fascinated 
 him at Hawkins' ball ; he heard the distant hum 
 and chatter of other voices, and then one loud 
 and close that of Chesbro, who had unwit 
 tingly interrupted them, and saved him, just in 
 the nick of time. 
 
 Steele moved restlessly; after a moment 
 wriggled to his elbow and looked toward the 
 25
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 fire. He seemed to hear Chesbro's voice 
 again as he awoke, and a thrill as keen as 
 an electric shock set his nerves tingling when 
 he heard once more the laughing voice of his 
 dream, hushed and low. In amazement he sat 
 bolt upright and stared. Was he still dream 
 ing? The fire was burning brightly and he was 
 aware that he had scarce fallen into sleep. 
 
 A movement a sound of feet crunching 
 softly in the snow, and a figure came between 
 him and the fire. 
 
 It was a woman. 
 
 He choked back the cry that rose to his lips 
 and sat motionless and without sound. The 
 figure approached a step nearer, peering into 
 the deep gloom of the tent. He caught the sil 
 ver glint in the firelight on heavy fur, the white 
 ness of a hand touching lightly the flap ~>f his 
 tent, and then for an instant he saw a face. In 
 that instant he sat as rigid as if he had stopped 
 the beat of his own life. A pair of dark eyes 
 laughing in at him, a flash of laughing teeth,, a 
 26
 
 A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 low titter that was scarce more than a rippling 
 throat-note, and the face was gone, leaving him 
 still staring into the blank space where it had 
 been. 
 
 With a cough to give warning of his wake- 
 fulness, Steele flung off his blanket and drew 
 himself through the low opening of the tent. 
 On the extreme right of the fire stood a man 
 and woman, warming themselves over the 
 coals. They straightened from their leaning 
 posture as he appeared. 
 
 "This is too bad, too bad, Mr. Steele," ex 
 claimed the man, advancing quickly. "I was 
 afraid we'd make a blunder and awaken you. 
 We were about to camp on a mountain back 
 there when we saw your fire and drove on to 
 it. I'm sorry " 
 
 "Wouldn't have had you miss me for any 
 thing," interrupted Steele, gripping the other's 
 proffered hand. "You see, I'm out from 
 Lac Bain to meet Colonel and Mrs. Becker, 
 and " He hesitated purposely, his white teeth 
 27
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 gleaming in the frank smile which made people 
 like him immensely, from the first. 
 
 "You've met them," completed the laughing 
 voice from across the fire. "Please, Mr. Steele, 
 will you forgive me for looking in at you and 
 waking you up? But your feet looked so ter 
 ribly funny, and I assure you that was all I 
 could see, though I tried awfully hard. Any 
 way, I saw your name printed on the flap of 
 your tent" 
 
 Steele felt a slow fire burning in his cheeks 
 as he encountered the beautiful eyes glowing at 
 him from behind the colonel. The woman was 
 smiling at him. In the heat of the fire she had 
 pushed back her fur turban, and he saw that her 
 hair was the same shining red gold that had 
 come to him in the letter, and that her lips and 
 eyes and the glorious color in her face were re 
 markably like those of which he had dreamed, 
 and of which waking visions had come with the 
 hyacinth letter to fill him with unrest and home 
 sickness. In spite of himself he had reasoned 
 28
 
 A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 that she would be young and that she woultf 
 have golden hair, but these other things, the 
 laughing beauty of her face, the luring depth o 
 her eyes. 
 
 He caught himself staring. 
 
 "I I was dreaming/' he almost stammered. 
 He pulled himself together quickly. "I was 
 dreaming of a face, Mrs. Becker. It seems 
 strange that this should happen away up here, 
 in this way. The face that I dreamed of is a 
 thousand miles from here, and it is wonderfully 
 like yours." 
 
 The colonel was laughing at him when he 
 turned. He was a little man, as straight as a 
 gun rod, pale of face except for his nose, which 
 was nipped red by the cold, and with a pointed 
 beard as white as the snow under his feet. 
 That part of his countenance which exposed 
 itself above the top of his great fur coat and 
 below his thick beaver cap was alive with good 
 cheer, notwithstanding its pallor. 
 
 "Glad you're good humored about it, Steele," 
 29
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 he cried with an immediate tone of comrade 
 ship. "We wouldn't have ventured into youi 
 camp if it hadn't been for Isobel. She was 
 positively insistent, sir. Wanted to see \vlio 
 was here and what it looked like. Eh, Isobel, 
 my dear, are you satisfied?" 
 
 "I surely didn't expect to find 'It' asleep at 
 this time of the day," said Mrs. Becker. She 
 laughed straight into Philip's face, and so 
 roguishly sweet was the curve of her red lips 
 and the light in her eyes that his heart quick 
 ened its beating, and the flush deepened in his 
 cheeks. 
 
 "It's only six," he said, looking at his watch. 
 "I don't usually turn in this early. I was 
 tired to-night though I am not, now," he 
 added quickly. "I could sit up until morning 
 and talk. We don't often meet people from 
 outside, you know. Where are the others?" 
 
 "Back there," said the colonel, waving an 
 arm into the gloom. "Isobel made 'em sit down 
 and be quiet, dogs and all, sir, while we came 
 30
 
 A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 on alone. There are Indians, two sledges, and 
 a ton of duff." 
 
 "Call them," said Steele. "There's room 
 for your tent beside mine, Colonel, close 
 against the face of this rock. It's as good as 
 a furnace." 
 
 The colonel moved a little out into the gloom 
 and shouted to those behind. Philip turned to 
 find Mrs. Becker looking at him in a timid, 
 questioning sort of way, the laughter gone 
 from her eyes. For a moment she seemed to 
 be on the point of speaking to him, then picked 
 up a short stick and began toying with the 
 coals. 
 
 "You must be tired, Mrs. Becker," he said. 
 "Now that you are near a fire, I would sug 
 gest that you throw off your heavy coat. You 
 will be more comfortable, and I will bring you 
 a blanket to sit on." 
 
 He dived into his tent and a moment later 
 reappeared with a blanket, which he spread 
 close against the butt of a big spruce within 
 31
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 half a dozen feet of the fire. When he turned 
 toward her, the colonel's wife had thrown off 
 her coat and turbin and stood before him, a 
 slim and girlish figure, bewitchingly pretty as 
 she smiled her gratitude and nestled down into 
 the place he had prepared for her. For a mo 
 ment he bent over her, tucking the thick fur 
 about her feet and knees, and in that moment 
 he breathed from the heavy coils of her shin 
 ing hair the flower-like sweetness which had 
 already stirred him to the depths of his soul. 
 
 Colonel Becker was smiling down upon 
 them when he straightened up, and at the hu 
 morous twinkle in his eyes, as he gazed from 
 one to the other, Steele felt that the guilt of 
 his own thoughts was blazing in his face. He 
 was glad that the Indians came up with the 
 sledges just at this moment, and as he went 
 back to help them with th dogs and packs he 
 swore softly at himself for the heat that was 
 in his blood and the strange madness that was 
 firing his brain. And inwardly he cursed him- 
 33
 
 A FACE OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 self still more when he returned to the fire. 
 From out the deep gloom he saw the colonel 
 sitting with his back against the spruce and 
 Mrs. Becker nestling against him, her head 
 resting upon his shoulder, talking and laughing 
 up into his face. Even as he hesitated for an 
 instant, scarce daring to break upon the scene, 
 he saw her pull the gray-bearded face down to 
 hers and kiss it, and in the ineffable content 
 ment and happiness shining in the two faces 
 in the firelight Philip Steele knew that he was 
 looking upon that which had broken for ever 
 the haunting image of another woman in his 
 heart. In its place would remain this picture 
 of love love as he had dreamed of it, as he 
 had hoped for it, and which he had found at 
 last but not for himself in the heart of a 
 wilderness. 
 
 He saw now something childishly sweet and 
 pure in the face that smiled welcome to him as 
 he came noisily through the snow-crust; and 
 something, too, in the colonel's face, which
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 reached out and gripped at his very heart 
 strings, and filled him with a warm glow that 
 was new and strange to him, and which was 
 almost the happiness of these two. It swept 
 from him the sense of loneliness which had 
 oppressed him a short time before, and when 
 at last, after they had talked for a long time 
 beside the fire, the colonel's wife lifted her 
 pretty head drowsily and asked if she might 
 go to bed, he laughed in sheer joy at the pout 
 ing tenderness with which she rubbed her pink 
 cheek against the grizzled face above her, and 
 at the gentle light in the colonel's eyes as he 
 half carried her into the tent. 
 
 For a long time after he had rolled himself 
 in his own blanket Philip lay awake, wonder 
 ing at the strangeness of this thing that had 
 happened to him. It was Her hair that he had 
 seen shining this night under the old spruce, 
 lustrous and soft, and coiled in its simple glory, 
 as he had seen it last on the night when Ches- 
 bro had broken in on them at the ball. It was 
 34
 
 A FACF OUT OF THE NIGHT 
 
 very easy for him to imagine that it had been 
 Her face, with soul and heart and love added 
 to its beauty. More than ever he knew what 
 had been missing for him now, and blessed 
 Chesbro for his blundering, and fell asleep to 
 dream of the new face, and to awaken hours 
 later to the unpleasant realization that his 
 visions were but dream-fabric after all, and 
 that the woman was the wife of Colonel 
 Becker.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION 
 
 IT was late afternoon when they came into 
 Lac Bain, and as soon as Philip had turned 
 over the colonel and his wife to Breed, he hur 
 ried to his own cabin. At the door he en 
 countered Buck Nome. The two men had not 
 met since a month before at Nelson House, 
 and there was but little cordiality in Steele's 
 greeting as he went through the formality of 
 Shaking hands with his associate. 
 
 "I'm going to say howdy to 'em," explained 
 Nome, pausing for a moment. "Deuce of a 
 good joke on you, Steele! How do you like 
 the job of bringing in an old colonel's frozen 
 wife, or a frozen colonel's old wife, eh?" 
 
 Every fiber in Steele's body grew tense at 
 the banter in the other's voice. He whirled 
 36
 
 A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION 
 
 upon Nome, who had partly turned away. 
 "You remember you lied down there at Nel 
 son to get just such a 'job' as this," he re 
 minded. "Have you forgotten what happened 
 after that?" 
 
 "Don't get miffed about it, man," returned 
 Nome with an irritating laugh. "All's fair in 
 love and war. That was love down there, 
 'pon my word of honor it was, and this is 
 about as near the other thing as I want to 
 come." 
 
 There was something in his laugh that drew 
 Steele's lips in a tight line as he entered the 
 cabin. It was not the first time that he had 
 listened to Nome's gloating chuckle at the 
 mention of certain women. It was this more 
 than anything else that made him hate the man. 
 Physically, Nome was a magnificent specimen, 
 beyond doubt the handsomest man in the serv 
 ice north of Winnipeg; so that while other men 
 despised him for what they knew, women ad 
 mired and loved him until, now and then too 
 37
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 late for their own salvation, they discovered 
 that his moral code was rotten to the core. 
 Such a thing had happened at Nelson House, 
 and Philip felt himself burning with a desire 
 to choke the life out of Nome as he recalled 
 the tragedy there. And what would happen 
 now?" The thought came to him like a dash 
 of cold water, and yet, after a moment, his 
 teeth gleamed in a smile as a vision rose before 
 him of the love and purity which he had seen 
 in the sweet face of the colonel's wife. He 
 chuckled softly to himself as he dragged out a 
 pack from under his bunk; but there was no 
 humor in the chuckle. From it he took a 
 bundle wrapped in soft birch-bark, and from 
 this produced the skull that he had brought up 
 with him from the South. There was a trem 
 ble of excitement in his low laugh as he 
 glanced about the gloomy interior of the cabin. 
 From the log ceiling hung a big oil lamp with 
 a tin reflector, and under this he hung the skull. 
 "You'll make a pretty ornament, M'sieur 
 38
 
 A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION 
 
 Janette," he exclaimed, standing off to con-, 
 template the white thing leering and bobbing 
 at him from the end of its string. "Mon Dieu> 
 I tell you that when the lamp is lighted Bucky 
 Nome must be blind if he doesn't recognize 
 you, even though you're dead, M'sieur !" 
 
 He lighted a smaller lamp, shaved himself, 
 and changed his clothes. It was dark when 
 he was ready for supper, and Nome had not 
 returned. He waited a quarter of an hour 
 longer, then put on his cap and coat and lighted 
 the big oil lamp. At the door he turned to 
 look back. The cavernous sockets of the skull 
 stared at him. From where he stood he could 
 see the ragged hole above the ear. 
 
 "It's your game to-night, M'sieur Janette," 
 he cried back softly, and closed the door behind 
 him. 
 
 They were gathered before a huge fire of 
 
 logs in the factor's big living-room when 
 
 Philip joined the others. A glance told him 
 
 why Nome had not returned to the cabin. 
 
 39
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 Breed and the colonel were smoking cigars 
 over a ragged ledger of stupendous size, whick 
 the factor had spread out upon a small table, 
 and both were deeply absorbed. Mrs. Becker 
 was facing the fire, and close beside her sat 
 Nome, leaning toward her and talking in a 
 voice so low that only a murmur of it came to 
 Steele's ears. The man's face was flushed 
 when he looked up, and his eyes shone with 
 the old fire which made Philip hate him. 
 
 As the woman turned to greet him Steele 
 felt a suddenly sickening sensation grip at his 
 heart. Her cheeks, too, were flushed, and the 
 color in them deepened still more when he 
 bowed to her and joined the two men at the 
 table. The colonel shook hands with him, and 
 Philip noticed that once or twice after that his 
 eyes shifted uneasily in the direction of the 
 two before the fire, and that whenever the low 
 laughter of Mrs. Becker and Nome came to 
 them he paid less attention to the columns of 
 figures which Breed was pointing out to him. 
 40
 
 A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION 
 
 When they rose to go into supper, Philip's 
 blood boiled as Nome offered his arm to Mrs. 
 Becker, who accepted it with a swift, laughing 
 glance at the colonel. There was no response 
 in the older man's pale face, and Philip's 
 fingers dug hard into the palms of his hands. 
 At the table Nome's attentions to Mrs. Becker 
 were even more marked. Once, under pretext 
 of helping her to a dish, he whispered words 
 which brought a deeper flush to her cheeks, 
 and when she looked at the colonel his eyes 
 were fixed upon her in. stern reproof. It was 
 abominable! Was Nome mad? Was the 
 woman 
 
 Steele did not finish the thought in his own 
 mind. His eyes encountered those of the 
 colonel's wife across the table. He saw a sud 
 den, quick catch of breath in her throat; even 
 as he looked the flush faded from her face, and 
 she rose from her seat, her gaze still upon him. 
 
 "I I am not feeling well," she said. "Will 
 you please excuse me?"
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 In an instant Nome was at her side, but she 
 turned quickly from him to the colonel, who 
 had risen from his chair. 
 
 "Please take me to my room," she begged. 
 'Then then you can come back." 
 
 Once more her face turned to Steele. There 
 was a pallor in it now that startled him. For 
 a few moments he stood alone, as Breed and 
 Nome left the table. He listened, and heard 
 the opening and closing of a second door. 
 Then a footstep, and Nome reappeared. 
 
 "By Heaven, but she's a beauty!" he ex 
 claimed. "I tell you, Steele " 
 
 Something in his companion's eyes stopped 
 him. Two red spots burned in Steele's cheeks 
 as he advanced and gripped the other fiercely 
 by the arm. 
 
 "Yes, she is pretty very pretty," he said 
 quietly, his fingers sinking deeper into Nome's 
 arm. "Get your hat and coat, Nome. I want 
 to see you in the cabin." 
 
 Behind them the door opened and closed 
 42
 
 A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION 
 
 again, and Steele shoved past his associate tc 
 meet Breed. 
 
 "Buck and I have a little matter to attend to 
 over at the cabin," he explained. "When they 
 when the colonel returns tell him we'll tx 
 over to smoke an after-supper pipe with him 
 a little later, will you? And give our compli 
 ments to her." With a half-sneer on his lip* 
 he rejoined Nome, who stared hard at him, 
 and followed him through the outer door. 
 
 "Now, what the devil does this mean?" 
 Nome demanded when they were outside. "If 
 you have anything on your mind, Steele " 
 
 "I have," interrupted Philip, "and I'm go 
 ing to relieve myself of it. Pretty? She's as 
 beautiful as an angel, Buck the colonel's wife, 
 I mean. And you " He laughed harshly. 
 "You're always the lucky dog, Buck Nome. 
 You think she's half in love with you now. 
 Too bad she was taken ill just at the psycho 
 logical moment, as you might say, Buck. 
 Wonder what was the matter?" 
 
 43
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "Don't know," growled Nome, conscious of 
 something in the other's voice which darkness 
 concealed in his face. 
 
 "Of course, you don't," replied Steele. 
 "That's why I am bringing you over to the 
 cabin. I am going to tell you just what hap 
 pened when Mrs. Becker was taken ill, and 
 when she turned a trifle pale, if you noticed 
 sharply, Buck. It's a good joke, a mighty 
 good joke, and I know you will thoroughly ap 
 preciate it." 
 
 He drew a step back when they came near 
 the cabin, and Nome entered first. Very coolly 
 Philip turned and bolted the door. Then, 
 throwing off his coat, he pointed to the white 
 skull dangling under the lamp. 
 
 "Allow me to introduce an old friend of 
 mine, Buck M'sieur Janette, of Nelson 
 House." 
 
 With a sudden curse Nome leaped toward 
 his companion, his face flaming, his hands 
 clenched to strike only to look into the shio- 
 44
 
 A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION 
 
 ing muzzle of Steele's revolver, with Steele's 
 cold gray eyes glittering dangerously behind it. 
 
 "Sit down, Nome right there, under the 
 man you killed!" he commanded. "Sit down, 
 or by the gods I'll blow your head off where 
 you stand! There and I'll sit here, like this, 
 so that the cur's heart within you is a bull's-eye 
 for this gun. It's M'sieur Janette's turn to 
 night," he went on, leaning over the little 
 table, the red spots in his cheeks growing red 
 der and brighter as Nome cringed before his 
 revolver. "M'sieur Janette's and the col 
 onel's; but mostly Janette's. Remember that, 
 Nome. It's for Janette. I'm not thinking 
 much about Mrs. Becker just now." 
 
 Steele's breath came quickly and his lips 
 were almost snarling in his hatred of the man 
 before him. 
 
 "It's a lie!" gasped Nome chokingly, his 
 face ashen white. "You lie when you say I 
 killed Janette." 
 
 The ringers of Steele's pistol hand twitched. 
 45
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "How I'd like to kill you!" he breathed. 
 "You won his wife, Nome; you broke his 
 heart and after that he killed himself. You 
 sent a report into headquarters that he killed 
 himself by accident. You lied. It was you 
 who killed him by taking his wife. I got his 
 skull because I thought I might need it against 
 you to show that it was a pistol instead of a 
 rifle that killed him. And this isn't the first 
 man you've sent to hell, Nome, and is isn't the 
 first woman. But your next won't be Mrs. 
 Becker 1" 
 
 He thrust his revolver almost into the other 
 man's face as Nome opened his lips to speak. 
 
 "Shut up!" he cried. "If you open your 
 dirty mouth again I'll be tempted to kill you 
 where you sit! Don't you know what hap 
 pened to-night? Don't you know that Mrs. 
 Becker forgot herself, and remembered again, 
 fust in time, and that you've taken a little 
 blood from the colonel's heart as you took all 
 of it from his?" He reached up and broke 
 46
 
 A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION 
 
 the string that held the skull, turning the empty 
 face of the thing toward Nome. "Look at it, 
 you scoundrel! That's the man you killed, as 
 you would kill the colonel if you could. That's 
 Janette!" 
 
 His voice fell to a hissing whisper as he 
 shoved the skull slowly across the table, so 
 close that a sudden movement would have sent 
 it against the other's breast. 
 
 "We've been fixing this thing up between us, 
 Bucky M'sieur Janette and I," he went on, 
 "and we've come to the conclusion that we 
 won't kill you, but that you don't belong to the 
 service. Understand?" 
 
 "You mean to drive me out " One of 
 Nome's hands had stolen to his side, and 
 Steele's pistol arm grew tense. 
 
 "On the table with your hands, Bucky! 
 There, that's better," he laughed softly. 
 
 "Yes, we're going to drive you out. You're 
 going to pack up a few things right away, 
 Bucky, and you're going to run like the devil 
 
 47
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 away from this place. I'd advise you to go 
 straight back to headquarters and resign from 
 the Northwest Mounted. MacGregor knows 
 you pretty well, Bucky, and knows one or two 
 things you've done, even though your whole 
 record is not an open book to him. I don't be 
 lieve he'll put any obstacles in the way of your 
 discharge although your enlistment hasn't ex 
 pired. Disability is an easy plea, you know. 
 But if the inspector should think so much of 
 you that he is loath to let you go, then M'sieur 
 Janette and I will have to fix up the story for 
 headquarters, and I don't mind telling you 
 we'll add just a little for interest, and that the 
 woman and the people at Nelson House will 
 swear to it. You've the making of a good out 
 law, Bucky," he smiled tauntingly, "and if you 
 follow your natural bent you'll have some of 
 your old friends after you, good and hard. 
 You'd better steer clear of that though, and 
 try your hand at being honest for once. 
 M'sieur Janette wants to give you this chance, 
 48
 
 A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION 
 
 and you'd better make good time. So get a 
 move on, Bucky. You'll need a blanket and a 
 little grub, that's all." 
 
 "Steele, you don't mean this! Good God, 
 man " Nome had half risen to his feet. "You 
 don't mean this !" 
 
 With his free hand Philip took out his 
 watch. 
 
 "I mean that if you are not gone within fif 
 teen minutes I'll march you over to Breed and 
 the colonel, tell them the story of M'sieur Ja- 
 nette, here, and hold you until we hear from 
 headquarters," he said quickly. "Which will it 
 be, Nome?" 
 
 Like one stunned by a blow Nome rose 
 slowly to his feet. He spoke no word as he 
 carefully filled his pack with the necessities of 
 a long journey. At the door, as he opened it 
 to go, he turned for just an instant upon 
 Steele, who was still holding the revolver in his 
 hand. 
 
 ''Remember, Bucky," admonished Philip in 
 49
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 a quiet voice, "it's all for the good of yourself 
 and the service." 
 
 Fear had gone from Nome's face. It was 
 filled now with a hatred so intense that his 
 teeth shone like the fangs of a snarling animal. 
 
 "To hell with you," he said, "and to hell 
 with the service; but remember, Philip Steele, 
 remember that some day we'll meet again." 
 
 "Some day," laughed Philip. "Good-by, 
 Bucky Nome deserter!" 
 
 The door closed and Nome was gone. 
 
 "Now, M'sieur Janette, it's our turn," cried 
 Steele, smiling companionably upon the skull 
 and loading his pipe. "It's our turn." 
 
 He laughed aloud, and for some time 
 puffed out luxurious clouds of smoke in si 
 lence. 
 
 "It's the best day's work I've done in my 
 life," he continued, with his eyes still upon the 
 skull. "The very best, and it would be com 
 plete, M'sieur, if I could send you down to the 
 woman who helped to kill you." 
 50
 
 A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION 
 
 He stopped, and his eyes leaped with a sud 
 den fire. "By George!" he exclaimed, under 
 his breath. His pipe went out ; for many min 
 utes he stared with set face at the skull, as if 
 it had spoken to him and its voice had trans 
 fixed him where he stood. Then he tossed his 
 pipe upon the table, collected his service equip 
 ment and strapped it in his pack. After that 
 he returned to the table with a pad of paper 
 and a pencil and sat down. His face was 
 strangely white as he took the skull in his 
 hands. 
 
 "I'll do it, so help me all the gods, I'll do 
 it !" he breathed excitedly. "M'sieur, a woman 
 killed you as much as Bucky Nome, a woman 
 did it. You couldn't do her any good but 
 you might another. I'm going to send you 
 to her, M'sieur. You're a terrible lesson, and 
 I may be a beast ; but you're preaching a pow 
 erful sermon, and I guess perhaps you may 
 do her good. I'll tell her your story, old man, 
 and the story of the woman who made you so 
 
 51
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 nice and white and clean. Perhaps she'll see the 
 moral, M'sieur. Eh? Perhaps!" 
 
 For a long time he wrote, and when he had 
 done he sealed the writing, put the envelope 
 and the skull together in a box, and tied the 
 whole with babiche string. On the outside he 
 fastened another note to Breed, the factor, in 
 which he explained that he and Bucky Nome 
 had found it necessary to leave that very night 
 for the West. And he heavily underscored the 
 lines in which he directed the factor to see that 
 the box was delivered to Mrs. Colonel Becker, 
 and that, as he valued the honor and the 
 friendship of the service, and especially of 
 Philip Steele, all knowledge of it should be 
 kept from the colonel himself. 
 
 It was eight o'clock when he went out into 
 the night with his pack upon his back. He 
 grunted approval when he found it was snow 
 ing, for the track of himself and Nome would 
 be covered. Through the thickening gloom 
 the two or three lights in the factor's home 
 
 52
 
 A SKULL AND A FLIRTATION 
 
 gleamed like distant stars. One of them was 
 brighter than the others, and he knew that it 
 came from the rooms which Breed had fitted 
 up for the colonel and his wife. As Philip 
 halted for a moment, his eyes drawn by a 
 haunting fascination to that window, the light 
 grew clearer and brighter, and he fancied that 
 he saw a face looking out into the night to 
 ward his cabin. A moment later he knew that it 
 was the woman's face. Then a door opened, 
 and a figure hurried across the open. He 
 stepped back into the gloom of his own cabin 
 and waited. It was the colonel. Three times 
 he knocked loudly at the cabin door. 
 
 "I'd like to go out and shake his hand," mut 
 tered Steele. "I'd like to tell him that he isn't 
 the only man who's had an idol broken, and 
 that Mrs. B.'s little flirtation isn't a circum 
 stance to what might have happened." 
 
 Instead, he moved silently away, and turned 
 his face into the thin trail that buried itself in 
 the black forests of the West. 
 53
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE SILKEN SCARF 
 
 A LONELINESS deeper than he had ever 
 known a yearning that was almost 
 pain, oppressed Philip as he left Lac Bain be 
 hind him. Half a mile from the post he 
 stopped under a shelter of dense spruce, and 
 stood listening as there came to him faintly the 
 distant howling of a dog. After all, had he 
 done right ? He laughed harshly and his hands 
 clenched as he thought of Bucky Nome. He 
 had done right by him. But the skull Mrs. 
 Becker was that right? Like a flash there 
 came to him out of the darkness a picture of 
 the scene beside the fire of Mrs. Becker and 
 the colonel, of the woman's golden head rest 
 ing on her husband's shoulder, her sweet blue 
 eyei filled with all the truth and glory of wom- 
 54
 
 THE SILKEN SCARF 
 
 anhood as she had looked up into his grizzled 
 face. And then there took its place the scene 
 beside the fire in the factor's room. He saw 
 the woman's flushed cheeks as she listened tu 
 the low voice of Bucky Nome, he saw again 
 what looked like yielding softness in her eyes 
 the grayish pallor in the colonel's face as he 
 had looked upon the flirtation. Yes, he had 
 done right. She had recovered herself in time, 
 but she had taken a little bit of life from the 
 colonel, and from him. She had broken his 
 ideal the ideal he had always hoped for, and 
 had sought for, but had never found, and he 
 told himself that now she was no better than 
 the girl of the hyacinth letter, whose golden 
 beauty and eyes as clear as an angel's had con 
 cealed this same deceit that wrecked men's 
 lives. M'sieur Janette's clean, white skull and 
 the story of how and why M'sieur Janette had 
 died would not be too great a punishment for 
 her. 
 
 He resumed his journey, striving to concen- 
 55
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 trate his mind on other things. Seven or eight 
 miles to the south and west was the cabin of 
 Jacques Pierrot, a half-breed, who had a 
 sledge and dogs. He would hire Jacques to 
 accompany him on his patrol in place of Bucky 
 Nome. Then he would return to Nelson House 
 and send in his report of Bucky Nome's deser 
 tion, since he knew well enough after the final 
 remarks of that gentleman that he did not in 
 tend to sever his connection with the Northwest 
 Mounted in the regular way. After that He 
 shrugged his shoulders as he thought of the 
 fourteen months' of service still ahead of him. 
 Until now his adventure as a member of the 
 Royal Mounted had not grown monotonous 
 for an hour. Excitement, action, fighting 
 against odds, had been the spice of life to him, 
 and he struggled to throw off the change that 
 had taken hold of him the moment he had 
 opened the hyacinth-scented letter of Mrs. 
 Becker. "You're a fool," he argued. "You're 
 as big a fool as Bucky Nome. My God you 
 56
 
 THE SILKEN SCARF 
 
 Phil Steele letting a married woman upset 
 you like this!" 
 
 It was near midnight when he came to Pier 
 rot's cabin, but a light was still burning in tht 
 half-breed's log home. Philip kicked off his 
 snow shoes and knocked at the door. In a 
 moment Pierrot opened it, stepped back, and 
 stared at the white figure that came in out of 
 the storm. 
 
 "Mon Dieu it ees you Mee-sair Philip !" 
 
 Philip held out his hand to Jacques, and 
 shot a quick glance about him. There had 
 been a change in the cabin since he had visited 
 it last. One of Pierrot's hands was done up 
 in a sling, his face was thin and pale, and his 
 dark eyes were sunken and lusterless. In the 
 little wilderness home there was an air of de 
 sertion and neglect, and Philip wondered 
 where Pierrot's rosy-cheeked, black-haired 
 wife and his half dozen children had gone. 
 
 "Mon Dieu it ees you, Mee-sair Philip,** 
 cried Pierrot again, his face lighting up with 
 57
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 pleasure. "You come late. You are hon- 
 gree?" 
 
 "I've had supper," replied Philip. "I've just 
 come from Lac Bain. But what's up, old 
 man ?" He pointed to Pierrot's hand, and 
 looked questionably about the cabin again. 
 
 "Eh lovvla my wife she is at Churchill, 
 over on the bay," groaned Jacques. "And so 
 are the children. What! You did not hear 
 at Lac Bain? lowla is taken seek ver' seek 
 with a strange thing which ugh! has to 
 be fixed with a knife, Mee-sair Philip. An' so 
 I take her to the doctor over at Churchill, an' 
 he fix her an' she is growing well now, an' 
 will soon come home. She keep the children 
 with her. She say they mak' her think of 
 Jacques, on his trap-line. Eh it ees lonely 
 dam' dam' lonely, and I have been gone from 
 my lowla but two weeks to-morrow." 
 
 "You have been with her at Fort Church 
 ill?'" asked Philip, taking off his pack and 
 coat. 
 
 58
 
 THE SILKEN SCARF 
 
 "Om, M'sieur," said Jacques, falling into his 
 French. "I have been there since November. 
 What! They did not tell you at Lac Bain?" 
 
 "No they did not tell me. But I was there 
 but a few hours, Jacques. Listen " He 
 pulled out his pipe and began filling it, witfl 
 his back to the stove. "You saw people 
 strangers at Fort Churchill, Jacques? They 
 came over on the London ship, and among 
 them there was a woman " 
 
 Pierrot's pale face flashed up with sudden 
 animation. 
 
 "Ah zee angel!" he cried. "That is what 
 my lowla called her, M'sieur. See!" He 
 pointed to his bandaged hand. "Wan day that 
 bete the Indian dog of mine did that, an* 
 w'en I jumped up from the snow in front of 
 the company's store, the blood running from 
 me, I see her standing there, white an' scared. 
 An' then she run to me with a little scream, an' 
 tear something from her neck, an' tie it round 
 my hand. Then she go with me to my cabin, 
 59
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 and every day after that she come to see my 
 lowla an' the children. She wash little Pierre, 
 an' cut his hair. She wash Jean an' Mabelle. 
 She laugh an' sing an' hoi' the baby, an' my 
 lowla laugh an' sing; an' she takes down my 
 lowla's hair, which is so long that it falls to 
 her knees, an' does it up in a wonderful way 
 an' says she would give everything she got if 
 the could have that hair. An' my lowla laugh 
 at her, because her hair is like an angel's like 
 fire w'en the sun is on it; an' my lowla tak' 
 hers down, all red an' gold, an' do it up in the 
 Cree way. And w'en she brings the man with 
 her he laughs an' plays with the kids, an' 
 says he knows the doctor and that there will 
 be nothing to pay for all that he is done. Ah 
 -she ees wan be-e-eautiful-1-1 angel! An' this 
 this is w'at she tied around my hand." 
 
 With new life Pierrot went to a covered box 
 nailed against one of the log walls and a mo 
 ment later placed in Philip's hands a long, 
 flrhite, silken neck-scarf. Once more there 
 60
 
 THE SILKEN SCARF 
 
 rose to his nostrils the sweet, faint scent 01 
 hyacinth, and with a sudden low cry Philip 
 crushed the dainty fabric in a mass to his face. 
 In that moment it seemed as though the sweet 
 ness of the woman herself was with him, stir 
 ring him at last to confess the truth the thing 
 which he had fought against so fiercely in those 
 few hours at Lac Bain ; and the knowledge that 
 he had surrendered to himself, that in going 
 from Lac Bain he was leaving all that the 
 world held for him in the way of woman and 
 love, drew his breath from him in another 
 broken, stifled cry. 
 
 When he lowered the scarf his face was 
 white. Pierrot was staring at him. 
 
 "It makes me think of home," he ex 
 plained lamely. "Sometimes I get lonely, too. 
 There's a girl down there who wears a 
 scarf like this, and what she wears smells like 
 a flower, just as this does " 
 
 "Oui, I understand," said Pierrot softly. "It 
 is the way I feel when my lowla is gone." 
 61
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 He replaced the scarf in the box, and when 
 he returned to the stove Philip explained why 
 he had come to his cabin. With Pierrot's prom 
 ise to accompany him with dogs and sledge on 
 his patrol the next day he prepared to go to 
 bed. Pierrot also was undressing, and Philip 
 said to him casually. 
 
 "This woman at Churchill Jacques 
 what if some one should tell you that she is not 
 so much of an angel after all that she is, per 
 haps, something like like the woman over at 
 Lac la Biche, who ran away with the English 
 man?" 
 
 Pierrot straightened as though Philip had 
 thrust a knife-point into his back. He broke 
 forth suddenly into French. 
 
 "I would call him a liar, M'sieur," he cried 
 fiercely. "I would call him a liar, once twice 
 three times, and then if he said it again I 
 would fight him. Mon Dieu, but it would be 
 no sin to kill one with a mouth like that !" 
 
 Philip was conscious of the hot blood rush- 
 62
 
 THE SILKEN SCARF 
 
 ing to his face as he bent over his bunk. The 
 depths of Pierrot's faith shamed him, and he 
 crawled silently between the blankets and 
 turned his face to the wall. Pierrot extin 
 guished the light, and a little later Philip could 
 hear his deep breathing. But sleep refused to 
 close his own eyes, and he lay on his back, 
 painfully awake. In spite of the resolution he 
 had made to think no more of the woman at 
 Lac Bain, his mind swept him back to her ir 
 resistibly. He recalled every incident that had 
 occurred, every word that she had spoken, 
 since he had first looked upon her beautiful 
 face out on the Churchill trail. He could find 
 nothing but purity and sweetness until he came 
 with her for that fatal hour or two into the 
 company of Bucky Nome. And then, again, 
 his blood grew hot. But after all was there 
 not some little excuse for her ? He thought of 
 the hundreds of women he had known, and 
 wondered if there was one among them all 
 who had not at some time fallen into this same 
 63
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 little error as Mrs. Becker. For the first time 
 he began to look at himself. Mrs. Becker had 
 laughed with Bucky Nome, her cheeks had 
 grown a little flushed, her eyes had shone radi 
 antly but were those things a sin? Had 
 those same eyes not looked up into his own, 
 filled with a sweetness that thrilled him, when 
 he bent over her beside the fire out on the 
 Churchill trail? Was there not that same 
 lovely flush in her face when his lips had al 
 most touched her hair? And had not the 
 colonel's sudden return brought a flush into 
 both their faces? He smiled to himself, and 
 for a moment he thrilled ecstatically. The re 
 action came like a shock. In an instant other 
 scenes other faces flashed upon him, and 
 again he saw the luring, beautiful face of 
 Eileen Hawkins, who smiled on men as Mrs. 
 Becker had smiled on Bucky Nome and on 
 him. 
 
 He closed his eyes and tried to force him- 
 64
 
 THE SILKEN SCARF 
 
 self into sleep, but failed. At last he rose si 
 lently from his bunk, filled his pipe, and sat 
 down in the darkness beside the stove. The 
 storm had increased to a gale, wailing and 
 moaning over the cabin outside, and the sound 
 carried him back to the last night in the cabin 
 far to the south, when he had destroyed the 
 hyacinth-scented letter. The thought of the 
 letter moved him restlessly. He listened to 
 Pierrot's breathing, and knew that the half- 
 breed was asleep. Then he rose to his feet and 
 laid his pipe on the table. A curious feeling 
 of guilt came over him as he moved toward 
 the box in which Jacques had placed the silken 
 scarf. His breath came quickly; in the dark 
 his eyes shone; a tingling thrill of strange 
 pleasure shot through him as his fingers 
 touched the thing for which they were search 
 ing. He drew the scarf out, and returned to 
 the stove with it, crushing it in both his hands. 
 The sweetness of it came to him again like the 
 65
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 woman's breath. It was the sweetness of her 
 hair, of the golden coils massed in the firelight ; 
 a part of the woman herself, of her glorious 
 eyes, her lips, her face and suddenly he 
 crushed the fabric to his own face, and stood 
 there, trembling in the darkness, while Jacques 
 Pierrot slept and the storm wailed and moaned 
 over his head. For he knew now that he 
 would do more for this woman than Jacques 
 Pierrot could ever do; more, perhaps, than 
 even the colonel, her husband, would do. His 
 heart seemed bursting with a new and terrible 
 pain, and the truth at last seemed to rise and 
 choke him. He loved her. He loved this 
 woman, the wife of another man. He loved 
 her as he had never dreamed that he could love 
 a woman, and with the scarf still smothering 
 his lips and face he stood for many minutes, 
 silent and motionless, gathering himself slowly 
 from out of the appalling depths into which he 
 had allowed himself to plunge. 
 
 Then he folded the scarf, and instead of re- 
 66
 
 THE SILKEN SCARF 
 
 turning it to the box, put it in one of the pock 
 ets of his coat. 
 
 "Pierrot won't care," he excused himself. 
 "And it's the only thing, little girl the only 
 thing I'll ever have of you." 
 
 671
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 BEAUTY-PROOF 
 
 IT was Pierrot who aroused Philip in the 
 morning. 
 
 "Mon Dieu, but you have slept like a bear," 
 he exclaimed. "The storm has cleared and it 
 will be fine traveling. Eh you have not 
 heard ? I wonder why they are firing guns off 
 toward Lac Bain!" 
 
 Philip jumped from his bed, and his first 
 look was in the direction of the box. He was 
 criminal enough to hope that Jacques would 
 not discover that the scarf was missing. 
 
 "A moose probably," he said. "There 
 were tracks close up to the post a day or two 
 ago." 
 
 He was anxious to begin their journey, and 
 assisted Pierrot in preparing breakfast. The
 
 BEAUTY-PROOF 
 
 sound of guns impressed upon him the pos 
 sibility of some one from Lac Bain calling at 
 the half-breed's cabin, and he wished to avoid 
 further association with people from the post 
 at least for a time. At nine o'clock Pierrot 
 bolted the door and the two set off into the 
 south and west. On the third day they swung 
 to the eastward to strike the Indians living 
 along Reindeer Lake, and on the sixth cut a 
 trail by compass straight for Nelson House. 
 A week later they arrived at the post, and 
 Philip found a letter awaiting him calling him 
 to Prince Albert. In a way the summons was 
 a relief to him. He bade Pierrot good-by, and 
 set out for Le Pas in company with two In 
 dians. From that point he took the work train 
 to Etomami, and three hours later was in 
 Prince Albert. 
 
 "Rest up for a time, Steele," Inspector Mac- 
 Gregor told him, after he had made a personal 
 report on Bucky Nome. 
 
 During the week that followed Philip had 
 6q
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 plenty of leisure in which to tell himself that 
 he was a fool, and that he was deliberately 
 throwing away what a munificent fortune hao 
 placed in his hands. MacGregor's announce 
 ment that he was in line for promotion in the 
 near future did not stir him as it would have 
 done a few weeks before. In his little bar 
 racks room he laughed ironically as he recalled 
 MacGregor's words, "We're going to make a 
 corporal or a sergeant of you." He Philip 
 Steele millionaire, club man, son of a western 
 king of finance a corporal or a sergeant ! For 
 the first time the thought amused him, and 
 then it maddened him. He had played the 
 part of an idiot, and all because there had been 
 born within him a love of adventure and the 
 big, free life of the open. No wonder some 
 of his old club friends regarded him as a 
 scapegrace and a ne'er-do-well. Ht had 
 thrown away position, power, friends and 
 home as carelessly as he might have tossed 
 away the end of a cigar. And all for this? 
 70
 
 BEAUTY-PROOF 
 
 He looked about his cramped quarters, a halt 
 sneer on his lips. He had tied himself to this! 
 To his ears there came faintly the thunder of 
 galloping hoofs. Sergeant Moody was train 
 ing his rookies to ride. The sneer left his lips, 
 and was replaced by a quick, alert smile as 
 Vie heard a rattle of revolver shots and the 
 cheering of voices. After all, it was not so 
 bad. It was a service that made men, and he 
 thought of the English remittance-man, whose 
 father was a lord of something-or-other, and 
 who was learning to ride and shoot out there 
 with red-headed, raucous-voiced Moody. There 
 began to stir in him again the old desire for 
 action, and he was glad when word was sent to 
 him that Inspector MacGregor wished to see 
 him in his office. 
 
 The big inspector was pacing back and forth 
 when Philip came in. 
 
 "Sit down, Steele, sit down," he said. 
 "Take it easy, man and have a cigar." 
 
 If MacGregor had suddenly gone into a fit 
 
 71
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 Philip could not have been more surprised than 
 at these words, as he stood with his cap in his 
 hand before the desk of the fiery-mustached 
 inspector, who was passing his box of choice 
 Havanas. There are tightly drawn lines of 
 distinction in the Royal Mounted. As Philip 
 had once heard the commissioner say, "Every 
 man in the service is a king but there are dif 
 ferent degrees of kings," and for a barracks 
 man to be asked to sit in the inspector's office 
 and smoke was a sensational breach of the 
 usual code. But as he had distinctly heard the 
 invitation to sit, and to smoke, Philip pro 
 ceeded to do both, and waited in silence for 
 the next mine to explode under his feet. And 
 there was a certain ease in his manner of do 
 ing these things which would have assured 
 most men that he was not unaccustomed to 
 sitting in the presence of greatness. 
 
 The inspector seemed to notice this. For 
 a moment he stood squarely in front of Steele, 
 his hands shoved deep into his pockets, a twin-
 
 BEAUTY-PROOF 
 
 kle in the cold, almost colorless eyes which 
 rookies dreaded even more than the fiercely 
 turned red mustaches. Then he laughed, a 
 rumbling, chuckling, companionable laugh, 
 such as finds its vent in the fellowship of 
 equals, but which is seldom indulged in by a 
 superior before an inferior in the R. N. W. M. 
 Police. 
 
 "Mighty good cigars, eh, Steele?" he asked, 
 turning slowly toward the window. "The com 
 missioner sent 'em up to me from Regina. 
 Nothing like a good cigar on a dreary day like 
 this. Whew, listen to the wind straight from 
 Medicine Hat!" 
 
 For a few moments he looked out upon the 
 cheerless drab roofs of the barracks, with their 
 wisps of pale smoke swirling upward into the 
 leaden sky; counted the dozen gnarled and 
 scrubby trees, as had become a habit with him ; 
 rested his eyes upon the black and shriveled 
 remnants of summer flower-beds thrusting 
 their frost-shrunken stalks through the snow, 
 
 73
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 and then, almost as if he were speaking to 
 himself, he said, "Steele, are you beauty 
 proof?" 
 
 There was no banter in his voice. It was 
 low, so low that it had in it the ring of some 
 thing more than mere desire for answer, and 
 when the inspector turned, Philip observed a 
 thing that he had never seen before a flush in 
 MacGregor's face. His pale eyes gleamed. 
 His voice was filled with an intense earnest 
 ness as he repeated the question. "I want to 
 know, Steele. Are you beauty-proof?" 
 
 In spite of himself Philip felt the fire rising 
 in his own face. In that moment the inspector 
 could have hit on no words that would have 
 thrilled him more deeply than those which he 
 had spoken. Beauty-proof! Did MacGregor 
 know ? Was it possible He took a step for 
 ward, words came to his lips, but he caught 
 himself before he had given voice to them. 
 
 Beauty-proof! 
 
 74
 
 BEAUTY-PROOF 
 
 He laughed, softly, as the inspector had 
 laughed a few moments before. But there was 
 a strange tenseness in his face something 
 which MacGregor saw, but could not under^ 
 stand. 
 
 "Beauty-proof?" He repeated the words, 
 looking keenly at the other. "Yes, I think I 
 am, sir." 
 
 "You think you are?" 
 
 "I am quite sure that I am, Inspector. That 
 is as far as I can go." 
 
 The inspector seated himself at his desk and 
 opened a drawer. From it he took a photo 
 graph. For some time he gazed at it in si 
 lence, puffing out clouds of smoke from his 
 cigar. Then, without lifting his eyes from the 
 picture, he said : "I am going to put you up 
 against a queer case, Steele, and the strangest 
 thing about it is its very simplicity. It's a job 
 for the greenest rookie in the service, and yet 
 I swear that there isn't another man in Sas- 
 
 75
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 katchewan to whom I would talk as I am about 
 to talk to you. Rather paradoxical, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Rather," agreed Philip. 
 
 "And yet not when you come to understand 
 the circumstances," continued the inspector, 
 placing the photograph face down on the table 
 and looking at the other through a purple cloud 
 of tobacco smoke. "You see, Steele, I know 
 who you are. I know that your father is 
 Philip Steele, the big Chicago banker. I know 
 that you are up here for romance and adven 
 ture rather than for any other thing there is in 
 the service. I know, too, that you are no 
 prairie chicken, and that most of your life has 
 been spent where you see beautiful women 
 every hour of the day, and where soft voices 
 and tender smiles aren't the most wonderful 
 things in the world, as they sometimes are up 
 here. Fact is, we have a way of our own of 
 running down records " 
 
 "And a confounded clever one it must be," 
 interrupted Philip irreverently. "Had you any 
 76
 
 BEAUTY-PROOF 
 
 any particular reason for supposing me to 
 be 'beauty -proof,' as you call it?" he added 
 coldly. 
 
 "I've told you my only reason," said the in 
 spector, leaning over his desk. "You've seen 
 so many pretty faces, Steele, and you've as 
 sociated with them so long that one up here 
 isn't going to turn your head. Now " 
 
 MacGregor hesitated, and laughed. The 
 flush grew deeper in his cheeks, and he looked 
 again at the photograph. 
 
 "I'm going to be frank with you," he went 
 on. "This young woman called on me yester 
 day, and within a quarter of an hour fifteen 
 minutes, mind you! she had me going like a 
 fool! Understand? I'm not proof against 
 her and yet I'm growing old in the service and 
 haven't had a love affair since a long time 
 ago. I'm going to send you up to the Wekuskc 
 camp, above Le Pas, to bring down a prisoner. 
 The man is her husband, and he almost killed 
 Hodges, who is chief of construction up there. 
 77
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 The minimum he'll get is ten years, and this 
 woman is moving heaven and earth to save 
 him. So help me God, Steele, if I was one of 
 Uie youngsters, and she came to me as she did 
 yesterday, I believe I'd let him give me the 
 slip! But it mustn't happen. Understand? It 
 mustn't happen. We've got to bring that man 
 down, and we've got to give him the law. Sim 
 ple thing, isn't it this bringing a prisoner 
 down from Wekusko! Any rookie could do 
 it, couldn't he ? And yet" 
 
 The inspector paused to light his cigar, 
 which had gone out. Then he added: "If 
 you'll do this, Steele and care for it I'll see 
 that you get your promotion." 
 
 As he finished, he tossed the photograph 
 across the desk. "That's she. Don't ask me 
 how I got the picture." 
 
 A curious thrill shot through Philip as he 
 
 picked up the bit of cardboard. It was a won- 
 
 drously sweet face that looked squarely out of 
 
 it into his eyes, a face so youthful, so rilled 
 
 78
 
 BEAUTY-PROOF 
 
 with childish prettiness that an exclamation of 
 surprise rose to his lips. Under other circum 
 stances he would have sworn that it was the 
 picture of a school-girl. He looked up, about 
 to speak, but MacGregor had turned again to 
 the window, clouds of smoke about his head. 
 He spoke without turning his head. 
 
 "That was taken nearly ten years ago," he 
 said, and Philip knew that he was making an 
 effort to keep an unnatural break out of his 
 voice. "But there has been little change 
 almost none. His name is Thorpe. I will 
 send you a written order this afternoon and 
 you can start to-night." 
 
 Philip rose, and waited. 
 
 "Is there nothing more?" he asked, after a 
 moment. "This woman " 
 
 "There is nothing more," interrupted the in 
 spector, still looking out through the window. 
 "Only this, Steele you must bring him back. 
 Whatever happens, bring back your prisoner." 
 
 As he turned to leave, Philip fancied that 
 79
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 he caught something else a stifled, choking 
 breath, a sound that made him turn his head 
 again as he went through the door. The in 
 spector had not moved. 
 
 "Now what the deuce does this mean?" he 
 asked himself, closing the door softly behind 
 him. "You're up against something queer this 
 time, Philip Steele, I'll wager dollars to dough 
 nuts. Promotion for bringing in a prisoner! 
 What in thunder " 
 
 He stopped for a moment in one of the 
 cleared paths. From the big low roofed drill 
 enclosure a hundred yards away came the dull 
 thud of galloping hoofs and the voice of Ser 
 geant Moody thundering instructions to the 
 rookies. Moody had a heart like flint and 
 would have faced blazing cannon to perform 
 his duty. He had grown old and ugly in the 
 service and was as beauty-proof as an ogre of 
 stone. Why hadn't MacGregor sent him? 
 
 Beauty-proof! The words sent a swift rush 
 of thought, of regret, of the old homesickness 
 80
 
 BEAUTY-PROOF 
 
 and longing through Philip as he returned to 
 his quarters. He wondered just how much 
 MacGregor knew, and he sat down to bring up 
 before him for the thousandth time a vision of 
 the two faces that had played their part in his 
 life the face of the girl at home, as beautiful 
 as a Diane de Poitiers, as soulless as a sphinx, 
 who had offered herself to him in return for 
 his name and millions, and of that other which 
 he had met away up in the frozen barrens of 
 Lac Bain. Beauty-proof! He laughed and 
 loaded his pipe. MacGregor had made a good 
 guess, even though he did not know what had 
 passed that winter before he came north to 
 seek adventure, or of the fight he had made for 
 another woman, with Mr. Bucky Nome de 
 serter ! 
 
 81
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE 
 
 IT was late in the afternoon when Philip's 
 instructions came from the inspector. They 
 were tersely official in form, gave him all nec 
 essary authority, and ordered him to leave for 
 Le Pas that night. Pinned to the order was 
 a small slip of paper, and on this MacGregor 
 had repeated in writing his words of a few 
 hours before : "Whatever happens, bring back 
 your prisoner." 
 
 There was no signature to this slip, and the 
 first two words were heavily underscored. 
 What did this double caution mean? Coming 
 from a man like MacGregor, who was as 
 choice as a king of his advice, Philip knew that 
 it was of unusual significance. If it was in 
 tended as a warning, why had not the inspector 
 82
 
 PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE 
 
 given him more detail? During the hour in 
 which he was preparing for his journey he 
 racked his brain for some clew to the situation. 
 The task which he was about to perform 
 seemed simple enough. A man named Thorpe 
 had attempted murder at Wekusko. He was 
 already a prisoner, and he was to bring him 
 down. The biggest coward in Saskatchewan, 
 or a man from a hospital bed, could do this 
 much, and yet 
 
 He read the inspector's words over and over 
 again. "Whatever happens !" In spite of him 
 self a little stir of excitement crept into his 
 blood. Since that thrilling hour in which he 
 had seen Bucky Nome desert from the service 
 he had not felt himself moved as now, and in a 
 moment of mental excitement he found him 
 self asking a question which a few minutes 
 before he would have regarded as a mark of 
 insanity. Was it possible that in the whole 
 of the Northland there could be another 
 woman as beautiful as Colonel Becker's wife 
 
 83
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 a woman so beautiful that she had turned 
 even Inspector MacGregor's head, as Mrs. 
 Becker had turned Bucky Nome's and his? 
 Was it possible that between these two women 
 between this wife of an attempted murderer 
 and Mrs. Becker there was some connecting 
 link some association 
 
 He cut his thoughts short with a low ex 
 clamation of disgust. The absurdity of the 
 questions he had asked himself brought a flush 
 into his face. But he could not destroy the 
 undercurrent of emotions they had aroused. 
 Anyway, something was going to happen. He 
 was sure of that. The inspector's actions, his 
 words, his mysterious nervousness, the strange 
 catch in his voice as they parted, all assured 
 him that there was a good reason for the re 
 peated warning. And whatever did happen 
 was to be brought about by the woman whose 
 girlish beauty he had looked upon in the pic 
 ture. That MacGregor was aware of the na 
 ture of his peril, if he was to run into danger 
 84
 
 PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE 
 
 at all, he was sure, and he was equally certain 
 that some strong motive restrained the inspect 
 or from saying more than he had. Already 
 ic began to scent in the adventure ahead of 
 nim those elements of mystery, of excitement, 
 even of romance, the craving for which was 
 an inherited part of his being. And with these 
 things there came another sensation, one that 
 surprised and disquieted him. A few days be 
 fore his one desire had been to get out of the 
 north country, to place as much distance as 
 possible between himself and Lac Bain. And 
 now he found himself visibly affected by the 
 thought that his duty was to take him once 
 more in the direction of the woman whose 
 sweet face had become an indissoluble part of 
 his existence. He would not see her. Even at 
 Wekusko he would be many days' journey 
 from Lac Bain. But she would be nearer to 
 lim, and it was this that quickened his pulse. 
 
 He was ten minutes early for his train, and 
 employed that interval in mingling among the 
 
 85
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 people at the station. MacGregor had as much 
 as told him that whatever unusual thing might 
 develop depended entirely upon the appearance 
 of the woman and he began to look for her. 
 She was not at the station. Twice he walked 
 through the coaches of his train without dis 
 covering a face that resembled that in the 
 photograph. 
 
 It was late when he arrived at Etomami, 
 where the sixty mile line of the Hudson's Bay 
 Railroad branches off to the north. At dawn 
 he entered the caboose of the work train, which 
 was to take him up through the wilderness to 
 Le Pas. He was the only passenger. 
 
 "There ain't even a hand-car gone up ahead 
 of us," informed the brakeman in response to 
 his inquiry. "This is the only train in five 
 days." 
 
 After all, it was to be a tame affair, in spite 
 
 of the inspector's uneasiness and warnings, 
 
 thought Philip. The woman was not ahead 
 
 of him. Two days before she had been in 
 
 86
 
 PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE 
 
 MacGregor's office, and under the circum 
 stances it was impossible for her to be at Le 
 Pas or at Wekusko, unless she had traveled 
 steadily on dog sledge. Philip swore softly to 
 himself in his disappointment, ate breakfast 
 with the train gang, went to sleep, and awoke 
 when they plowed their way into the snow- 
 smothered outpost on the Saskatchewan. 
 
 The brakeman handed him a letter. 
 
 "This came on the Le Pas mail," he ex 
 plained. "I kept it out for you instead of 
 sending it to the office." 
 
 "Thank you," said Philip. "A special 
 from headquarters. Why in thunder didn't 
 they send me a messenger instead of a letter, 
 Braky? They could have caught me on the 
 train." 
 
 He tore open the departmental envelope as 
 he spoke and drew forth a bit of folded paper. 
 It was not the official letter-head, but at a 
 glance Philip recognized the inspector's scrawl 
 ing writing and his signature. It was one of 
 87
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 MacGregor's quiet boasts that the man did not 
 live who could forge his name. 
 
 An astonished whistle broke from his lips as 
 he read these few lines : 
 
 Follow your conscience, whatever you do. 
 Both God and man wiK reward you in the end. 
 
 FELIX MACGREGOR. 
 
 And this was all. There was no date, no 
 word of explanation; even his own name had 
 been omitted from this second order. He 
 picked up the envelope which had fallen to the 
 floor and looked at the postmark. It had been 
 stamped four-thirty. It was after five, an hour 
 later, that he had received his verbal instruc 
 tions from MacGregor! The inspector must 
 have written the note before their interview of 
 the preceding afternoon before his repeated 
 injunction of "Whatever happens, bring back 
 your prisoner!" But this letter was evidently 
 intended as final instructions since it had beetv 
 sent so as to reach him at this time. What did 
 88
 
 PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE 
 
 it mean ? The question buzzed in Philip's brain, 
 repeated itself twenty times, fifty times, as he 
 hurried through the gathering darkness of the 
 semi-polar night toward the log hotel of the 
 place. He was convinced that there was some 
 hidden motive in the inspector's actions. What 
 was he to understand? 
 
 Suddenly he stopped, a hundred yards from 
 the glimmering lights of the Little Saskatche 
 wan hotel, and chuckled audibly as he stuffed 
 his pipe. It flashed upon him now why Mac- 
 Gregor had chosen him instead of an ordinary 
 service man to bring down the prisoner from 
 Wekusko. MacGregor knew that he, Philip 
 Steele, college man and man of the world, 
 would reason out the key to this little puzzle, 
 whereas Sergeant Moody and others of his type 
 would turn back for explanations. And In 
 spector MacGregor, twenty years in the service, 
 and recognized as the shrewdest man-hunter 
 between the coasts, wished to give no ex 
 planation. Philip's blood tingled with fresh 
 80
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 excitement as the tremendous risk which the 
 inspector himself was running, dawned upon 
 him. Publicity of the note which he held in his 
 hand would mean the disgrace and retirement 
 even of Felix MacGregor. 
 
 He thrust the letter in his pocket and hur 
 ried on. The lights of the settlement were 
 already agleam. From the edge of the frozen 
 river there came the sound of a wheezy ac 
 cordion in a Chinese cafe, and the howling of 
 a dog, either struck by man or worsted in a 
 fight. Where the more numerous lights of the 
 one street shone red against the black back 
 ground of forest, a drunken half-breed was 
 chanting in half-Cree, half-French, the chorus 
 of the caribou song. He heard the distant 
 snapping of a whip, the yelping response of 
 huskies, and a moment later a sledge and six 
 dogs passed him so close that he was com 
 pelled to leap from their path. This was Le 
 Pas the wilderness ! Beyond it, just over the 
 frozen river which lay white and silent before 
 90
 
 PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE 
 
 him, stretched that endless desolation of ro 
 mance and mystery which he had grown to 
 love, a world of deep snows, of silent-tongued 
 men, of hardship and battle for life where the 
 law of nature was the survival of the fittest, 
 and that of man, "Do unto others as ye would 
 that they should do unto you." Never did 
 Philip Steele's heart throb with the wild, free 
 pulse of life and joy as in such moments as 
 these, when his fortune, his clubs, and his 
 friends were a thousand miles away, and he 
 stood on the edge of the big northern Un 
 known. 
 
 As he had slept through the trainmen's din 
 ner hour, he was as hungry as a wolf, and he 
 lost no time in seating himself in a warm cor 
 ner of the low, log-ceilinged dining-room of 
 the Little Saskatchewan. Although a quarter 
 of an hour early, he had hardly placed himself 
 at his table when another person entered the 
 room. Casually he glanced up from the two 
 letters which he had spread out before him.
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 The one who had followed him was a woman. 
 She had turned sharply upon seeing him and 
 seated herself at the next table, her back so 
 toward him that he caught only her half pro 
 file. 
 
 It was enough to assure him that she was 
 young and pretty. On her head she wore a 
 turban of silver lynx fur, and about this she 
 had drawn her glossy brown hair, which shone 
 like burnished copper in the lamp-glow, and 
 had gathered it in a bewitchingly coquettish 
 knot low on her neck, where it shone with a 
 new richness and a new warmth with every 
 turn of her head. But not once did she turn 
 so that Philip could see more than the tan 
 talizing pink of her cheek and the prettiness of 
 her chin, which at times was partly concealed 
 in a collarette of the same silver gray lynx fur. 
 
 He ate his supper almost mechanically, in 
 
 spite of his hunger, for his mind was deep in 
 
 the mysterious problem which confronted him. 
 
 Half a dozen times he broke in upon his 
 
 92
 
 PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE 
 
 thoughts to glance at the girl at the opposite 
 table. Once he was sure that she had been 
 looking at him and that s-he had turned just in 
 time to keep her face from him. Philip ad 
 mired pretty women, and of all beauty in 
 woman he loved beautiful hair, so that more 
 and more frequently his eyes traveled to the 
 shining wealth of copper-colored tresses near 
 him. He had almost finished his supper when 
 a movement at the other table drew his eyes 
 up squarely, and his heart gave a sudden jump. 
 The girl had risen. She was facing him, and 
 as for an instant their eyes met she hesitated, 
 as if she were on the point of speaking. In 
 that moment he recognized her. 
 
 It was the girl in the photograph, older, 
 more beautiful the same soft, sweet contour 
 of face, the same dark eyes that had looked at 
 him in MacGregor's office, filled with an inde 
 scribable sadness now, instead of the laughing 
 joy of girlhood. In another moment he would 
 have responded to her hesitation, to the 
 93
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 thctic tremble of her lips, but before words 
 could form themselves she had turned and was 
 gone. And yet at the door, even as she dis 
 appeared, he saw her face turned to him again, 
 pleadingly, entreatingly, as if she knew his 
 mission and sent to him a silent prayer for 
 mercy. 
 
 Thrusting back his chair, he caught up his 
 hat from a rack and followed. He was in time 
 to see her pass through the low door out into 
 the night. Without hesitation his mind had 
 leaped to a definite purpose. He would over 
 take her outside, introduce himself, and then 
 perhaps he would understand the conflicting 
 orders of Inspector MacGregor. 
 
 The girl was passing swiftly down the main 
 street when he took up the pursuit. Suddenly 
 she turned into a path dug through the snow 
 that led riverward. Ahead of her there was 
 only the starlit gloom of night and the distant 
 blackness of the wilderness edge. Philip's 
 blood ran a little faster. She had expected that 
 94
 
 PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE 
 
 he would follow, knew that he was close be 
 hind her, and had turned down into this de 
 serted place that they might not be observed! 
 He made no effort now to overtake her, but 
 kept the same distance between them, whistling 
 carelessly and knowing that she would stop to 
 wait for him. Ahead of them there loomed up 
 out of the darkness a clump of sapling spruce, 
 and into their shadow the girl disappeared. 
 
 A dozen paces more and Philip himself was 
 buried in the thick gloom. He heard quick, 
 light footsteps in the snow-crust ahead of him. 
 Then there came another sound a step close 
 behind him, a noise of disturbed brush, a low 
 voice which was not that of a woman, and be 
 fore his hand could slip to the holster at his 
 belt a human form launched itself upon him 
 from the side, and a second form from behind, 
 and under their weight he fell a helpless heap 
 into the snow. Powerful hands wrenched his 
 arms behind his back and other hands drew a 
 cloth about his mouth. A stout cord was 
 
 95
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 twisted around his wrists, his legs were tied, 
 and then his captors relieved him of their 
 weight 
 
 Not a word had been spoken during the brief 
 struggle. Not a word was spoken now as his 
 mysterious assailants hoisted him between them 
 and followed in the footsteps of the woman. 
 Scarcely a hundred paces beyond the spruce 
 the dark shadow of a cabin came into view. 
 Into this he was carried and placed on some 
 thing which he took to be a box. Then a light 
 was struck. 
 
 For the first time Philip's astonished eyes 
 had a view of his captors. One of them was an 
 old man, a giant in physique, with a long gray 
 beard and grayish yellow hair that fell to his 
 shoulders. His companion was scarcely more 
 than a boy, yet in his supple body, as he moved 
 about, Philip recognized the animal-like 
 strength of the forest breed. A word spoken 
 in a whisper by the boy revealed the fact that 
 the two were father and son. From that side 
 96
 
 PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE 
 
 of the room which was at Philip's back they 
 dragged forth a long pine box, and were en 
 gaged in this occupation when the door opened 
 and a third man entered. Never had Philip 
 looked on a more unprepossessing face than 
 that of the newcomer, in whose little black 
 eyes there seemed to be a gloating triumph as 
 he leered at the prisoner. He was short, with 
 a huge breadth of shoulders. His eyes and 
 mouth and nose were all but engulfed in super 
 fluous flesh, and as he turned from Philip to the 
 man and boy over the box he snapped the joints 
 of his fingers in a startling manner. 
 
 "Howdy, howdy!" he wheezed, like one af 
 flicted with asthma. "Good! good!" With 
 these four words he lapsed into the silence of 
 the older man and the boy. 
 
 As the box was dragged full into the light, a 
 look of horror shot into Philip's eyes. It was 
 the rough-box of a coffin! Without a word, 
 and apparently without a signal, the three sur 
 rounded him and lifted him bodily into it. To 
 97
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 his surprise he found himself lying upon some 
 thing soft, as if the interior of his strange 
 prison had been padded with cushions. Then, 
 with extreme caution, his arms were freed 
 from under his back and strapped to his side, 
 and other straps, broad and firm, were fastened 
 from side to side of the box across his limbs 
 and body, as if there were danger of his flying 
 up and out through the top. Another moment 
 and a shadow fell above him, pitch gloom en 
 gulfed him. 
 
 They were dragging on the cover to the box ! 
 He heard the rapid beating of a hammer, the 
 biting of nails into wood, and he writhed and 
 struggled to free his hands, to cry out, to gain 
 the use of his legs, but not the fraction of an 
 inch could he relieve himself of his fetters. 
 After a time his straining muscles relaxed, and 
 he stopped to get his breath and listen. Faintly 
 there came to him the sound of subdued voices, 
 and he caught a glimmer of light, then another, 
 and still a third. He saw now that half a dozen 
 
 98
 
 PHILIP FOLLOWS A PRETTY FACE 
 
 holes had been bored into the cover and sides 
 of the box. The discovery brought with it a 
 sense of relief. At least he was not to be suf 
 focated. He found, after an interval, that he 
 was even comfortable, and that his captors had 
 not only given him a bed to lie upon, but had 
 placed a pillow under his head. 
 
 99
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 A FEW moments later Philip heard the 
 movement of heavy feet, the opening 
 and closing of a door, and for a time after that 
 there was silence. Had MacGregor anticipated 
 this, he wondered ? Was this a part of the pro 
 gram which the inspector had foreseen that he 
 would play ? His blood warmed at the thought 
 and he clenched his fists. Then he began to 
 think more calmly. His captors had not re 
 lieved him of his weapons. They had placed 
 his service cap in the box with him and had 
 unbuckled his cartridge belt so that he would 
 rest more comfortably. What did all this 
 mean ? For the hundredth time he asked him 
 self the question. 
 
 Returning footsteps interrupted his thoughts. 
 100
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 The cabin door opened, people entered, again 
 he heard whispering voices. 
 
 He strained his ears. At first he could have 
 sworn that he heard the soft, low tones of a 
 woman's voice, but they were not repeated. 
 Hands caught hold of the box, dragged it 
 across the floor, and then he felt himself lifted 
 bodily, and, after a dozen steps, placed care 
 fully upon some object in the snow. His 
 amazement increased when he understood what 
 was occurring. 
 
 He was on a sledge. Through the air-holes 
 in his prison he heard the scraping of strap- 
 thongs as they were laced through the runner- 
 slits and over the box, the restless movement of 
 dogs, a gaping whine, the angry snap of a pair 
 of jaws. Then, slowly, the sledge began to 
 move. A whip cracked loudly above him, a 
 voice rose in a loud shout, and the dogs were 
 urged to a trot. Again there came to Philip's 
 ears the wheezing notes of the accordion. By 
 a. slight effort he found that he could turn his 
 101
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 head sufficiently to look through a hole on a 
 level with his eyes in the side of the box. The 
 sledge had turned from the dark trail into the 
 lighted street, and stopped at last before a bril 
 liantly lighted front from which there issued 
 the sound of coarse voices, of laughter and 
 half-drunken song. 
 
 One of his captors went into the bar while 
 the other seated himself on the box, with one 
 leg shutting out Philip's vision by dangling it 
 over the hole through which he was looking. 
 
 "What's up, Fingy?" inquired a voice. 
 
 "Wekusko," replied the man on the box, in 
 the husky, flesh-smothered tones of the person 
 who had entered last into the cabin 
 
 "Another dead one up there, eh?" persisted 
 the same voice. 
 
 "No. Maps 'n' things f'r Hodges, up at the 
 camp. Devil of a hurry, ain't he, to order us 
 
 up at night? Tell to hustle out with the 
 
 bottle, will you ?" 
 
 The speaker sent the lash of his whip snap- 
 1 02
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 ping through the air in place of supplying a 
 name. 
 
 "Maps and things for Hodges Wekus- 
 ko!" gasped Philip inwardly. 
 
 He listened for further information. None 
 came, and soon the man called Fingy jumped 
 from the box, cracked his whip with a wheez 
 ing command to the dogs, and the sledge 
 moved on. 
 
 And so his captors were taking him to We- 
 kusko? and more than that, to Hodges, chief 
 of construction, whose life had been attempted 
 by the prisoner whom Inspector MacGregor 
 had ordered him to bring down! Had Fingy 
 spoken the truth ? And, if so, was this another 
 part of the mysterious plot foreseen by the in 
 spector ? 
 
 During the next half hour, in which the 
 sledge traveled steadily over the smooth, hard 
 trail into the north, Philip asked himself these 
 and a score of other questions equally perplex 
 ing. He was certain that the beautiful young 
 103
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 woman whom he had followed had purposely 
 lured him into the ambush. He considered 
 himself her prisoner. Then why should he be 
 consigned, like a parcel of freight, to Hodges, 
 her husband's accuser, and the man who de 
 manded the full penalty of the law for his as 
 sailant ? 
 
 The more he added to the questions that 
 leaped into his mind the more mystified he be 
 came. The conflicting orders, the strange de 
 meanor of his chief, the pathetic appeal that he 
 had seen in the young woman's eyes, the am 
 bush, and now this unaccountable ride to We- 
 kusko, strapped in a coffin box, all combined to 
 plunge him into a chaos of wonder from which 
 it was impossible for him to struggle forth. 
 However, he assured himself of two things; he 
 was comparatively comfortable, and within 
 two hours at the most they would reach 
 Hodges' headquarters, if the Wekusko camp 
 were really to be their destination. Something 
 must develop then. 
 
 104
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 It had ceased to occur to him that there was 
 peril in his strange position. If that were so, 
 would his captors have left him in possession 
 of his weapons, even imprisoned as he was? 
 If they had intended him harm, would they 
 have cushioned his box and placed a pillow 
 under his head so that the cloth about his 
 mouth would not cause him discomfort? It 
 struck him as peculiarly significant, now that 
 he had suffered no injury in the short struggle 
 on the trail, that no threats or intimidation had 
 been offered after his capture. This was a part 
 of the game which he was to play! He became 
 more and more certain of it as the minutes 
 passed, and there occurred to him again and 
 again the inspector's significant words, "What 
 ever happens!" MacGregor had spoken the 
 words with particular emphasis, had repeated 
 them more than once. Were they intended tc 
 give him a warning of this, to put him on his 
 guard, as well as at his ease?" 
 
 And with these thoughts, many, conflicting 
 105
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 and mystifying, he found it impossible to keep 
 from associating other thoughts of Bucky 
 Nome, and of the woman whom he now 
 frankly confessed to himself that he loved. If 
 conditions had been a little different, if the in 
 cidents had not occurred just as they had, he 
 might have suspected the hand of Bucky Nome 
 in what was transpiring now. But he discarded 
 that suspicion the instant that it came to him. 
 That which remained with him more and more 
 deeply as the minutes passed was a mental pic 
 ture of the two women of this woman who 
 was fighting to save her husband, and of the 
 other, whom he loved, and for whom he had 
 fought to save her for her husband. It was 
 with a dull feeling of pain that he compared the 
 love, the faith, and the honor of this woman 
 whose husband had committed a crime with 
 that one night's indiscretion of Mrs. Becker. 
 It was in her eyes and face that he had seen a 
 purity like that of an angel, and the pain 
 seemed to stab him deeper when he thought 
 106
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 that, after all, it was the criminal's wife who 
 was proving herself, not Mrs. Becker. 
 
 He strove to unburden his mind for a time, 
 and turned his head so that he could peer 
 through the hole in the side of the box. The 
 moon had risen, and now and then he caught 
 flashes of the white snow in the opens, but 
 more frequently only the black shadows of the 
 forest through which they were passing. They 
 had not left Le Pas more than two hours be 
 hind when the sledge stopped again and Philip 
 saw a few scattered lights a short distance 
 away. 
 
 "Must be Wekusko," he thought. "Hello, 
 what's that?" 
 
 A voice came sharply from the opposite side 
 of the box. 
 
 "Is that you, Fingy?" it demanded. "What 
 the devil have you got there?" 
 
 "Your maps and things, sir," replied Fingy 
 hoarsely. "Couldn't come up to-morrow, so 
 thought we'd do it to-night." 
 107
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 Philip heard the closing of a door, and foot 
 steps crunched in the snow close to his ears. 
 
 "Love o' God!" came the voice again. 
 "What's this you've brought them up in, 
 Fingy?" 
 
 "Coffin box, sir. Only thing the maps 'd fit 
 into, and it's been layin' around useless since 
 MacVee kem down in it. Mebby you can find 
 use for it, later," he chuckled grewsomely. 
 "Ho-ho-ho ! mebby you can !" 
 
 A moment later the box was lifted and 
 Philip knew that he was being carried up a step 
 and through a door, then with a suddenness 
 that startled him he found himself standing 
 upright. His prison had been set on end ! 
 
 "Not that way, man," objected Hodges, for 
 Philip was now certain that he was in the pres 
 ence of the chief of construction. "Put it 
 down over there in the corner." 
 
 "Not on your life," retorted Fingy, cracking 
 his finger bones fiercely. "See here, Mister 
 Hodges, I ain't a coward, but I b'lieve in bein' 
 108
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 respectful to the dead, 'n' to a box that's held 
 one. It says on that red card, 'Head This 
 end up,' an', s'elp me, it's going to be up, un 
 less you put it down. I ain't goin' to be ha'nted 
 by no ghosts ! Ho, ho, ho " He approached 
 close to the box. "I'll take this red card off, 
 Mister Hodges. It ain't nat'ral when there 
 ain't nothing but maps 'n' things in it." 
 
 If the cloth had not been about his mouth, it 
 is possible that Philip would not have re 
 strained audible expression of his astonish 
 ment at what happened an instant later. The 
 card was torn off, and a ray of light shot into 
 his eyes. Through a narrow slit not more than 
 a quarter of an inch wide, and six inches long, 
 he found himself staring out into the room. 
 The huge gray-bearded man who had set upon 
 him from the ambush was at the door, about to 
 leave. Fingy was close behind him. And in 
 the rear of these two, as if eager for their de 
 parture, was Hodges, chief of construction. 
 
 No sooner had the men gone than Hodges 
 109
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 turned back to the table in the center of the 
 office. It was not difficult for Philip to see that 
 the man's face was flushed and that he was 
 laboring under some excitement. He sat down, 
 fumbled over some papers, rose quickly to his 
 feet, looked at his watch, and began pacing 
 back and forth across the room. 
 
 "So she's coming," he chuckled gleefully. 
 "She's coming, at last!" He looked at his 
 watch again, straightened his cravat before a 
 mirror, and rubbed his hands with a low laugh. 
 "The little beauty has surrendered," he went 
 on, his face turning for an instant toward the 
 coffin box. "And it's time past time." 
 
 A light knock sounded at the door, and the 
 chief sprang to open it. A figure darted past 
 him, and for but a breath a white, beautiful 
 face was turned toward Philip and his prison 
 the face of the young woman whom he had 
 seen but two hours before in Le Pas, the face 
 that had pleaded with him that night, that had 
 smiled upon him from the photograph, and that 
 no
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 seemed to be masked now in a cold marble-like 
 horror, as its glorious eyes, like pools of glow 
 ing fire, seemed searching him out through that 
 narrow slit in the coffin box. 
 
 Hodges had advanced, with arms reaching 
 out, and the woman turned with a low, sobbing 
 breath breaking from her lips. 
 
 Another step and Hodges would have taken 
 her in his arms, but she evaded him with a 
 quick movement, and pointed to a chair at one 
 side of the table. 
 
 "Sit down!" she cried softly. "Sit down, 
 and listen!" 
 
 Was it fancy, or did her eyes turn with al 
 most a prayer in them to the box against the 
 wall? Philip's heart was beating like a drum. 
 That one word he knew was intended for him. 
 
 "Sit down," she repeated, as Hodges hesi 
 tated. "Sit down there and I will sit here. 
 Before before you touch me, I want an un 
 derstanding. You will let me talk, and listen 
 -listen!" 
 
 in
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 Again that one word "listen!" Philip 
 knew was intended for him. 
 
 The chief had dropped into his chair, and his 
 visitor seated herself opposite him, with her 
 face toward Philip. She flung back the fur 
 from about her shoulders, and took off her fur 
 turban, so that the light of the big hanging 
 lamp fell full upon the glory of her hair, and 
 set off more vividly the ivory pallor of her 
 cheeks, in which a short time before Philip had 
 seen the rich crimson glow of life, and some 
 thing that was not fear. 
 
 "We must come to an understanding," she 
 repeated, fixing her eyes steadily upon the man 
 before her. "I would sacrifice my life for him 
 for my husband and you are demanding 
 that I do more than that. I must be sure-of the 
 reward !" 
 
 Hodges leaned forward eagerly, as if about 
 to speak, but she interrupted him. 
 
 "Listen !" she cried, a fire beginning to burn 
 through the whiteness of her cheeks. "It was 
 112
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 you who urged him to come up here when, 
 through misfortune, we lost our little home 
 down in Marion. You offered him work, and 
 he accepted it, believing you a friend. He still 
 thought you a friend when I knew that you 
 were a traitor, planning and scheming to wreck 
 his life, and mine. He would not listen when 
 I spoke to him, without arousing his suspicions, 
 of my abhorrence of you. He trusted you. He 
 was ready to fight for you. And you you " 
 
 In her excitement the young woman's hands 
 gripped the edges of the table. For a few mo 
 ments her breath seemed to choke her, and then 
 she continued, her voice trembling with pas 
 sion. 
 
 "And you you followed me about like a 
 serpent, making every hour of my life one of 
 misery, because he believed in you, and I dared 
 not tell him. So I kept it from him until that 
 night you came to our cabin when he was away, 
 and dared to take me in your arms, to kiss me, 
 und I I told him then, and he hunted you
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 down and would have killed you if there hadn't 
 been others near to give you help. My God, I 
 love him more because of that! But I was 
 wrong. I should have killed you !" 
 
 She stopped, her breath breaking in a sob. 
 With a sudden movement Hodges sprang from 
 his chair and came toward her, his face flushed, 
 his lips smiling ; but, quicker than he, Thorpe's 
 wife was upon her feet, and from his prison 
 Philip saw the rapid rising and falling of her 
 bosom, the threatening fire in her beautiful 
 eyes as she faced him. 
 
 "Ah, but you are beautiful!" he heard the 
 man say. 
 
 With a cry, in which there was mingled all 
 the passion and gloating joy of triumph, 
 Hodges caught her in his arms. In that mo 
 ment every vein in Philip's body seemed flood 
 ed with fire. He saw the woman's face again, 
 now tense and white in an agony of terror, saw 
 her struggle to free herself, heard the smoth 
 ered cry that fell from her lips. For the first 
 114
 
 THE r i RAGED Y IN THE CABIN 
 
 time he strained to free himself, to cry out 
 through the thick bandage that gagged him. 
 The box trembled. His mightiest effort almost 
 sent it crashing to the floor. Sweating, power 
 less, he looked again through the narrow slit 
 In the struggle the woman's hair had loosened, 
 and tumbled now in shining masses down her 
 back. Her hands were gripping at Hodges' 
 throat. Then one of them crept down to her 
 bosom, and with that movement there came a 
 terrible, muffled report. With a groan the chief 
 staggered back and sank to the floor. 
 
 For a moment, stupefied by what she had 
 done, Thorpe's wife stood with smoking pistol 
 in her hand, gazing upon the still form at her 
 feet. Then, slowly, like one facing a terrible 
 accuser, she turned straight to the coffin box. 
 The weapon that she held fell to the floor. 
 Without a tremor in her beautiful face she 
 went to one side of the room, picked up a small 
 belt-ax, and began prying off the cover to 
 Philip's prison. There was still no hesitation, 
 
 "5
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 no tremble of fear in her face or hands when 
 the cover gave way and Philip stood revealed, 
 his face as white as her own and bathed in a 
 perspiration of excitement and horror. Calmlj 
 she took away the cloth about his mouth, loos 
 ened the straps about his legs and arms and 
 body, and then she stood back, still speechless, 
 her hands clutching at her bosom while she 
 waited for him to step forth. 
 
 His first movement was to fall upon his 
 knees beside Hodges. He bowed his head, lis 
 tened, and held his hand under the man's 
 waistcoat. Then he looked up. The woman 
 was bending over him, her eyes meeting his 
 own unflinchingly. 
 
 "He is dead !" he said quietly. 
 
 "Yes, my brother, he is dead !" 
 
 The sweet, low tones of the woman's voice 
 rose scarcely above a whisper. The meaning 
 of her words sank into his very soul. 
 
 "My sister " he repeated, hardly knowing 
 that the words were on his lips. "My " 
 116
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 "Or your wife," she interrupted, and her 
 hand rested gently for a moment upon his 
 shoulder. "Or your wife what would you 
 have had her do ?" 
 
 Her voice the gentleness of her touch, sent 
 his mind flashing back to that other tragic mo 
 ment in a little cabin far north, when he had 
 almost killed a man, and for less than this that 
 he had heard and seen. It seemed, for an in 
 stant, as though the voice so near to him was 
 coming, faintly, pleadingly, from that other 
 woman at Lac Bain the woman who had al 
 most caused a tragedy similar to this, only with 
 the sexes changed. He would have excused 
 Colonel Becker for killing Bucky Nome, for 
 defending his own honor and his wife's. And 
 here now was a woman who had fought and 
 killed for her own honor, and to save her hus 
 band. His sister his wife Would he have 
 had them do this? Would he have Mrs. 
 Becker, the woman he loved, defend her honoi 
 as this woman had defended hers? Would he 
 117
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 not have loved her ten times a hundred times 
 more for doing so ? 
 
 He rose to his feet, making an effort to steel 
 himself against the justice of what he had seen 
 against the glory of love, of womanhood, of 
 triumph which he saw shining in her eyes. 
 
 "I understand now," he said. "You had me 
 brought here in this way that I might hear 
 what was said, and use it as evidence. But " 
 
 "Oh, my God, I did not mean to do this," 
 she cried, as if knowing what he was about to 
 say. "I thought that if he betrayed his vileness 
 to you if he knew that the world would know, 
 through you, how he had attempted to destroy 
 a home, and how he offered my husband's free 
 dom in exchange for but you saw, you heard, 
 you must understand! He would not dare to 
 go on when he knew that all this would become 
 public. My husband would have been free. 
 But now" 
 
 "You have killed him," said Philip. 
 
 There was no sympathy in his voice. It was
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 the cold, passionless accusation of a man of the 
 law, and the woman bowed her face in her 
 hands. He put on his service cap, tightened 
 his belt, and touched her gently on the arm. 
 
 "Do you know where your husband is con 
 fined?" he asked. "I will take you there, and 
 you may remain with him to-night." 
 
 She brightened instantly. "Yes," she said. 
 "Come!" 
 
 They passed through the door, closing it 
 carefully behind them, and the woman led the 
 way to a dark, windowless building a hundred 
 yards from the dead chief's headquarters. 
 
 "This is the camp prison," she whispered. 
 
 A man clad in a great bear-skin coat was on 
 guard at the door. In the moonlight he recog 
 nized Philip's uniform. 
 
 "Here are orders from the inspector," said 
 Philip, holding out MacGregor's letter. "I am 
 to have charge of the prisoner. Mrs. Thorpe 
 is to spend the night with him." 
 
 A. moment later the door was opened and the 
 no
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 woman passed in. As he turned away Philip 
 heard a low sobbing cry, a man's startled voice. 
 Then the door swung heavily on its hinges and 
 there was silence. 
 
 Five minutes later Philip was bending again 
 over the dead man. A surprising transforma 
 tion had come over him now. His face was 
 flushed and his strong teeth shone in sneering 
 hatred as he covered the body with a blanket. 
 On the wall hung a pair of overalls and a 
 working-man's heavy coat. These and Hodges' 
 hat he quickly put on in place of his own uni 
 form. Once more he wen* out into the night. 
 
 This time he came up back of the prison. 
 The guard was pacing back and forth in his 
 beaten path, so thickly muffled about the ears 
 that he did not hear Philip's cautious footsteps 
 behind him. When he turned he found the 
 muzzle of a revolver within arm's length of his 
 face. 
 
 "Hands up!" commanded Philip. 
 
 The astonished man obeyed without a word. 
 1 20
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 "If you make a move or the slightest sound 
 I'll kill you!" continued Philip threateningly. 
 "Drop yoyr hands behind you there, like 
 that!" 
 
 With the quickness and skill which he had 
 acquired under Sergeant Moody he secured the 
 guard's wrists with one of the coffin box straps, 
 and gagged him with the same cloth that had 
 been used upon himself. He had observed that 
 his prisoner carried the key to the padlocked 
 cabin in one of his coat pockets, and after pos 
 sessing himself of this he made him seat him 
 self in the deep shadow, strapped his ankles, 
 and then unlocked the prison door. 
 
 There was a light inside, and from beyond 
 this the white faces of the man and the woman 
 stared at him as he entered. The man was 
 leaning back in his cot, and Philip knew that 
 the wife had risen suddenly, for one arm was 
 still encircling his shoulders, and a hand was 
 resting on his cheek as if she had been stroking 
 it caressingly when he interrupted them. Her 
 121
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 beautiful, startled eyes gazed at him half defi 
 antly now. 
 
 He advanced into the light, took off his hat, 
 and smiled. 
 
 With a cry Thorpe's wife sprang to her feet. 
 
 "Sh-h-h-h-h !" warned Philip, raising a hand 
 and pointing to the door behind them. 
 
 Thorpe had risen. Without a word Philip 
 advanced and held out his hand. Only half 
 understanding, the prisoner reached forth his 
 own. As, for an instant, the two men stood in 
 this position, one smiling, the other transfixed 
 with wonder, there came a stifled, sobbing cry 
 from behind. Philip turned. The woman 
 stood in the lamp glow, her arms reaching out 
 to him to both and never, not even at Lac 
 Bain, had he seen a woman more beautiful than 
 Thorpe's wife at that moment. 
 
 As if nothing had happened, he went to the 
 table, where there was a pen and ink and a pad 
 of paper. 
 
 "Perhaps your wife hasn't told you every- 
 122
 
 THE TRAGEDY IN THE CABIN 
 
 thing that has happened to-night, Thorpe," he 
 said. "If she hasn't, she will soon. Now, 
 listen!" 
 
 He had pulled a small book from an inner 
 pocket and was writing. 
 
 "My name is Steele, Philip Steele, of the 
 Royal Mounted. Down in Chicago I've got a 
 father, Philip Egbert Steele, a banker, who's 
 worth half a dozen millions or so. You're go 
 ing down to him as fast as dog-sledge and train 
 can carry you, and you'll give him this note. It 
 says that your name is Johnson, and that for 
 my sake he's going to put you on your feet, so 
 that it is going to be pretty blamed comfortable 
 for yourself and the noblest little woman I've 
 ever met. Do you understand, Thorpe ?" 
 
 He looked up. Thorpe's wife had gone to 
 her husband. She stood now, half in his arms, 
 and looking at him; as they were, they re 
 minded him of a couple who had played the 
 finale in a drama which he had seen a year 
 before. 
 
 123
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "There is one favor which you must do me, 
 Thorpe," he went on. "At home I am rich. 
 Up here I'm only Phil Steele, of the Royal 
 Mounted. I'm telling you so that you won't 
 think that I'm stripping myself when I make 
 you take this. It's a little ready cash, and a 
 check for a thousand dollars. Some day, if 
 you want to, you can pay it back. Now hustle 
 up and get on your clothes. I imagine that 
 your friends are somewhere near with the 
 sledge that brought me up from Le Pas. To 
 morrow, of course, I shall be compelled to take 
 up the pursuit. But if you hurry I don't be 
 lieve that I shall catch you." 
 
 He rose and put on his hat, leaving the 
 money and the check on the table. The woman 
 staggered toward him, the man following in a 
 dazed, stunned sort of way. He saw the wom 
 an's arms reaching out to him again, a look in 
 her beautiful face that he would never forget. 
 
 In another moment he had opened the door 
 and was gone. 
 
 124
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ANOTHER LETTER FOR PHILIP 
 
 FROM beside his prisoner in the deep gloom 
 Philip saw Thorpe and his wife come out 
 of the cabin a minute later and hurry away 
 through the night. Then he dragged the guard 
 into the prison, relocked the door, left the key 
 in the lock, and returned to Hodges' office to 
 replace the old clothes for his uniform. 
 
 Not until he stood looking down upon the 
 dead body again did the enormity of his own 
 offense begin to crowd upon him. But he was 
 not frightened nor did he regret what he had 
 done. He turned out the light, sat down, coolly 
 filled his pipe, and began turning the affair 
 over, detail by detail, in his mind. He had, at 
 least, followed Inspector MacGregor's injunc 
 tion he had followed his conscience. Hodges 
 125
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 !iad got what he deserved, and he had saved a 
 tnan and a woman. 
 
 But in spite of his first argument, he knew 
 that MacGregor had not foreseen a tragedy of 
 this sort, and that, in the eyes of the law, he 
 was guilty of actively assisting in the flight of 
 two people who could not possibly escape the 
 penalty of justice if caught. But they would 
 not be caught. He assured himself of that, 
 smiling grimly in the darkness. No one at 
 Wekusko could explain what had happened. 
 He was positive that the guard had not recog 
 nized him, and that he would think one of 
 Thorpe's friends had effected the rescue. And 
 MacGregor 
 
 Philip chuckled as he thought of the con 
 demning evidence in his possession, the strange 
 orders which would mean dismissal for the 
 inspector, and perhaps a greater punishment, if 
 he divulged them. He would be safe in telling 
 MacGregor something of what had occurred in 
 the little cabin. And then, as he sat in this 
 126
 
 ANOTHER LETTER FOR PHILIP 
 
 grim atmosphere of death, a thought came to 
 him of M'sieur Janette's skull, of Bucky Nome, 
 and of the beautiful young wife at Lac Bain. 
 If Mrs. Becker could know of this, too if 
 Bucky Nome, buried somewhere deep in the 
 northern wilderness, could only see Hodges as 
 he lay there, dead on the cabin floor! To the 
 one it would be a still greater punishment, to 
 the other a warning. And yet, even as he 
 thought of the colonel's wife and of her flirta 
 tion with Nome, a vision of her face came to 
 him again, filled with the marvelous sweetness, 
 the purity, and the love which had enthralled 
 him beside the camp-fire. In these moments it 
 was almost impossible for him to convince him 
 self that she had forgotten her dignity as a 
 wife even for an hour. Could he have been 
 mistaken? Had he looked at her with eyes 
 neated by his own love, fired by jealousy? If 
 she had smiled upon him instead of upon 
 Bucky Nome, if her cheeks had flushed at his 
 words, would he have thought that she had 
 127
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 done wrong? As if in answer to his own ques 
 tions, he saw again the white, tense face of the 
 colonel, her husband, and he laughed harshly. 
 
 For several hours Philip remained in the 
 shelter of Hodges' office. With early dawn he 
 stole out into the forest, and a little later made 
 his appearance in camp, saying that he had 
 spent the night at Le Pas. Not until an hour 
 later was it discovered that Hodges had been 
 killed, the guard made a prisoner, and that 
 Thorpe and his wife were gone. Philip at once 
 took charge of affairs and put a strain on his 
 professional knowledge by declaring that 
 Thorpe had undoubtedly fled into the North. 
 Early in the afternoon he started in pursuit. 
 
 A dozen miles north of the Wekusko camp 
 he swung at right angles to the west, traveled 
 fifteen miles, then cut a straight course south, 
 It was three days later before he showed up at 
 Le Pas, and learned that no one had seen of 
 heard of Thorpe and his wife. Two days later 
 he walked into MacGregor's office. The in- 
 128
 
 ANOTHER LETTER FOR PHILIP 
 
 specter fairly leaped from his chair to greet 
 him. 
 
 "You got them, Steele !" he cried. "You got 
 them after the mur the killing of Hodges?" 
 
 Philip handed him a crumpled bit of paper. 
 
 "Those were your latest instructions, sir," he 
 replied quietly. "I followed them to the letter." 
 
 MacGregor read, and his face turned as 
 white as the paper he held. "Good God!" he 
 gasped. 
 
 He reeled rather than walked b^ck to his 
 desk, dropped into a chair and buried his face 
 in his arms, his shoulders shaking like those of 
 a sobbing boy. It was a long time before he 
 looked up, and during these minutes Philip, 
 with his head bowed low to the other, told him 
 of all that had happened in the little room at 
 Wekusko. But he did not say that it was he 
 who had surprised the guard and released 
 Thorpe and his wife. 
 
 At last MacGregor raised his head. 
 
 "Philip," he said, taking the young man's 
 129
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 hand in both his own, "since she was a little 
 girl and I a big, strapping playmate of nine 
 teen, I have loved her. She is the only girl 
 
 the only woman I have ever loved. You 
 
 understand ? I am almost old enough to be her 
 father. She was never intended for me. But 
 things like this happen sometimes, and when 
 she came to plead with me the other day I al 
 most yielded. That is why I chose you, warned 
 you" 
 
 He stopped, and a sob rose in his breast. 
 "And at last you did yield," said Philip. 
 The inspector gazed at him for a moment in 
 silence. Then he said : "It was ten years ago, 
 on her seventeenth birthday, that I made her a 
 present of a little silver-bound autograph book, 
 and on the first page of that book I wrote the 
 words which saved her husband and her. Do 
 you understand now, Philip? It was her last 
 card, and she played it well." 
 
 He smiled faintly, and then said, as if to no 
 one but himself, "God bless her!" 
 130
 
 ANOTHER LETTER FOR PHILIP 
 
 He looked down on the big, tawny head that 
 was bowed again upon the desk, and placed his 
 hands on the other's shoulders. 
 
 "God bless her!" echoed Philip. 
 
 "You are not alone in you?- sorrows, Felix 
 MacGregor," he said softly. "You asked me if 
 I was beauty-proof. Yes, I am. And it is be 
 cause of something like this, because of a face 
 and a soul that have filled my heart, because of 
 a woman that is not mine, and never can be 
 mine, because of a love which ever burns, and 
 must never be known it is because of this 
 that I am beauty-proof. God bless this little 
 woman, MacGregor and you and I will 
 never ask where she has gone." 
 
 MacGregor's hand reached out and gripped 
 his own in silence. In that hand-clasp there 
 was sealed a pact between them, and Philip re 
 turned to his barracks room to write a letter, in 
 care of his father, to the man and woman 
 whom he had helped to escape into the south. 
 He spent the greater part of that day writing.
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 It was late in the afternoon that Moody came 
 in with the mail. 
 
 "One for you, Phil," he said, tossing a letter 
 on Philip's table. "Looks as though it had 
 been through a war." 
 
 Philip picked up the letter as the sergeant 
 left him. He dropped his pen with a low 
 whistle. He could see at a glance that the let 
 ter had come an unusual journey. It was dirty, 
 and crumpled, and ragged at the ends and 
 then, on the back of it, he found written in ink, 
 "Lac Bain." His fingers trembled as he tore 
 open the envelope. Swiftly he read. His 
 breath came in a gasping cry from between his 
 lips, his face turned as white as the crumpled 
 paper, and then, as suddenly, a flush of excite 
 ment leaped into his cheeks, replacing the pal 
 lor. His eyes seemed blinded before he had 
 half finished the letter, and his heart was 
 pounding with suffocating force. 
 
 This was what he read : 
 132
 
 ANOTHER LETTER FOR PHILIP 
 
 My Dear Philip Steele : 
 
 Your letter, and the skull, came to us to-day. 
 I thank God that chance brought me into my 
 Isobel's room in time, or I fear for what might 
 have happened. It was a terrible punishment, 
 my dear Steele, for her and for me. But I 
 deserved it more than she. That very night 
 after Isobel left the table she insisted that I 
 explain. When I returned to the room below, 
 you were gone. I waited, and then went to 
 your cabin. You know why I did not find you. 
 Steele, Isobel is not my wife. She is my 
 daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Becker had planned to come with me to 
 Lac Bain from Fort Churchill, and we wrote 
 the factor to that effect. But we changed our 
 plans. Mrs. Becker returned on the London 
 ship, and Isobel came with me. In a spirit of 
 fun she suggested that for the first few hours 
 she be allowed to pass as well, you under 
 stand. The joke was carried too far. When 
 she met you and Bucky Nome it ceased to 
 be a joke, and almost became a tragedy. For 
 those few minutes before the fire Isobel used 
 her disguise as a test. She came to me, before 
 
 133
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 you joined us, and whispered to me that Nome 
 was a scoundrel, and that she would punish him 
 before the evening was over. In the short space 
 of that evening she knew that she had met one 
 of the most despicable of blackguards in Nome, 
 and one of the noblest of men in you. And not 
 until she saw on you the effect of what she was 
 doing did everything dawn fully upon her. 
 
 You know what happened. She left the 
 table suddenly, overcome by shame and terror. 
 When I returned later, and told her that I could 
 not find you, it was impossible to comfort her. 
 She lay in her bed crying all that night. I am 
 telling you all this, because to me my daughter 
 is one of the two most precious things on earth, 
 the sweetest and purest little girl that ever 
 breathed. I can not describe to you the effect 
 upon her of the skull and the letter. Forgive 
 us forgive me. Some day we may meet 
 again SYLVESTER BECKER. 
 
 Like one in a dream Philip picked up the 
 torn envelope. Something dropped from it 
 upon the table a tiny cluster of violets that 
 134
 
 ANOTHER LETTER FOR PHILIP 
 
 had been pressed and dried between the pages 
 of a book, and when he took them in his fingers 
 he found that their stems were tied with a sin 
 gle thread of golden hair ! 
 
 135
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 PHILIP TAKES UP THF TRAIL 
 
 THE letter the flowers that one shining 
 golden hair, wound in a glistening thread 
 about their shriveled stems, seemed for a short 
 space to lift Philip Steele from out of the 
 world he was in, to another in which his mind 
 was only vaguely conscious, stunned by this 
 letter that had come with the unexpectedness 
 of a thunderbolt to change, in a single instant, 
 every current of life in his body. For a few 
 moments he made no effort to grasp the indi 
 vidual significance of the letter, the flowers, 
 the golden hair. One thought filled his brain 
 one great, overpowering truth, which excluded 
 everything else and this was the realization 
 that the woman he loved was not Colonel 
 Becker's wife. She was free. And for him 
 136
 
 PHILIP TAKES UP THE TRAIL 
 
 Philip Steele there was hope hope Sud 
 denly it dawned upon him what the flowers 
 meant. The colonel had written the letter, and 
 Isobel had sent the faded violets, with their 
 golden thread. It was her message to him a 
 message without words, and yet with a deeper 
 meaning for him than words could have ex 
 pressed. In a flood there rushed back upon him 
 all the old visions which he had fought against, 
 and he saw her again in the glow of the camp- 
 fire, and on the trail, glorious in her beauty, his 
 ideal of all that a woman should be. 
 
 He rose to his feet and locked his door, fear 
 ing that some one might enter. He wanted to 
 be alone, to realize fully what had happened, to 
 regain control of his emotions. If Isobel 
 Becker had merely written him a line or two, a 
 note exculpating herself of what her father 
 had already explained away, he would still have 
 thought that a world lay between them. But, 
 in place of that, she had sent him the faded 
 flowers, with their golden thread ! 
 
 137
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 For many minutes he paced back and forth 
 across his narrow room, and never had a room 
 looked more like a prison cell to him than this 
 one did now. He was filled with but one im 
 pulse, and that was to return to Lac Bain, to 
 humble himself at the feet of the woman he 
 loved, and ask her forgiveness for the heinous 
 thing he had done. He wanted to tell her that 
 he had driven Bucky Nome into outlawry, that 
 he had fought for her, and run away himself 
 because he loved her. It was Sergeant Moody's 
 voice, vibrant with the rasping unpleasantness 
 of a file, that jarred him back into his practical 
 self. He thrust the letter and the flowers into 
 his breast pocket, and opened the door. 
 
 Moody came in. 
 
 "What in blazes are you locked up for?" he 
 demanded, his keen little eyes scrutinizing 
 Philip's feverish face. "Afraid somebody'll 
 walk in and steal you, Phil ?" 
 
 "Headache," said Philip, putting a hand to 
 his head. "One of the kind that makes you 
 
 138
 
 PHILIP TAKES UP THE TRAIL 
 
 think your brain must be a hard ball bumping 
 around inside your skull." 
 
 The sergeant laid his hand on Philip's arm. 
 
 "Go take a walk, Phil," he said, in a softer 
 voice. "It will do you good. I just came in to 
 tell you the news. They've got track of DeBar 
 again, up near Lac la Biche. But we can talk 
 about that later. Go take a walk.'* 
 
 "Thanks for the suggestion," said Philip. "I 
 believe I'll do it." 
 
 He passed beyond the barracks, and hit the 
 sleigh-worn road that led out of town, walking 
 faster and faster, as his brain began working. 
 He would return to Lac Bain. That was set 
 tled in his mind without argument. Nothing 
 could hold him back after what he had received 
 that afternoon. If the letter and the violet 
 message had come to him from the end of the 
 earth it would have made no difference ; his de 
 termination would have been the same. He 
 would return to Lac Bain but how? That 
 was the question which puzzled him. He still 
 139
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 had thirteen months of service ahead of him. 
 He was not in line for a furlough. It would 
 take at least three months of official red tape to 
 purchase his discharge. These facts rose like 
 barriers in his way. It occurred to him that he 
 might confide in MacGregor, and that the in 
 spector would make an opportunity for him to 
 return into the north immediately. MacGregor 
 had the power to do that, and he believed that 
 he would do it. But he hesitated to accept this 
 last alternative. 
 
 And then, all at once, Sergeant Moody's 
 words came back to him "They've got track 
 of DeBar again, up near Lac la Biche." The 
 idea that burst upon him with the recalling of 
 those words stopped Philip suddenly, and he 
 turned back toward the barracks. He had 
 heard a great deal about DeBar, the cleverest 
 criminal in all the northland, and whom no 
 man or combination of men had been clever 
 enough to catch. And now this man was near 
 Lac la Biche, in the Churchill and Lac Bain 
 140
 
 PHILIP TAKES UP THE TRAIL 
 
 country. If he could get permission from Mac- 
 Gregor to go after DeBar his own difficulty 
 would be settled in the easiest possible way. 
 The assignment would take him for a long and 
 indefinite time into the north. It would take 
 him back to Isobel Becker. 
 
 He went immediately to his room upon 
 reaching the barracks, and wrote out his re 
 quest to MacGregor. He sent it over to head 
 quarters by a rookie. After that he waited. 
 
 Not until the following morning did Moody 
 bring him a summons to appear in MacGregor's 
 office. Five minutes later the inspector greeted 
 him with outstretched hand, gave him a grip 
 that made his fingers snap, and locked the office 
 door. He was holding Philip's communication 
 when the young man entered. 
 
 "I don't know what to say to this, Steele," 
 he began, seating himself at his desk and mo 
 tioning Philip to a chair. "To be frank with 
 you, this proposition of yours is entirely 
 against my best judgment." 
 141
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "In other words, you haven't sufficient confi 
 dence in me," added Philip. 
 
 "No, I don't mean that. There isn't a man 
 Dn the force in whom I have greater confidence 
 than you. But, if I was to gamble, I'd wager 
 ten to one that you'd lose out if I sent you up to 
 take this man DeBar." 
 
 "I'll accept that wager only reverse the 
 odds," said Philip daringly. 
 
 The inspector twisted one of his long red 
 mustaches and smiled a little grimly at the 
 other. 
 
 "If I were to follow my own judgment I'd 
 not send one man, but two," he went on. "I 
 don't mean to underestimate the value of my 
 men when I say that our friend DeBar, who 
 has evaded us for years, is equal to any two 
 men I've got. I wouldn't care to go after him 
 .nyself alone. I'd want another hand with 
 me, and a mighty good one a man who was 
 cool, cautious, and who knew all of the ins and 
 outs of the game as well as myself. And 
 142
 
 PHILIP TAKES UP THE TRAIL 
 
 here " He interrupted himself, and chuckled 
 audibly, "here you are asking permission to go 
 after him alone! Why, man, it's the very next 
 thing to inviting yourself to commit suicide! 
 Now, if I were to send you, and along with you 
 a good, level-headed man like Moody " 
 
 "I have had enough of double-harness work, 
 unless I am commanded to go, Mr. Mac- 
 Gregor," interrupted Philip. "I realize that 
 DeBar is a dangerous man, but I believe that I 
 can bring him down. Will you give me the 
 opportunity?" 
 
 MacGregor laid his cigar on the edge of the 
 desk and leaned across toward his companion, 
 the long white ringers of his big hands clasped 
 in front of him. He always took this position, 
 with a cigar smoldering beside him, when about 
 to say those things which he wished to be in 
 delibly impressed on the memory of his lis 
 tener. 
 
 "Yes, I'm going to give you the opportunty," 
 he said slowlv. "and I am also going to give
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 you permission to change your mind after I 
 have told you something about DeBar, whom 
 we know as the Seventh Brother. I repeat 
 that, if you go alone, it's just ten to one that 
 you don't get him. Since '99 four men have 
 gone out after him, and none has come back. 
 There was Forbes, who went in that year; 
 Bannock, who took up the trial in 1902 ; Fleish- 
 am in 1904, and Gresham in 1907. Since the 
 time of Gresham's disappearance we have lost 
 sight of DeBar, and only recently, as you 
 know, have we got trace of him again. He is 
 somewhere up on the edge of the Barren 
 Lands. I have private information which leads 
 me to believe that the factor at Fond du Lac 
 can take you directly to him." 
 
 MacGregor unclasped his hands to pick up a 
 worn paper from a small pile on the desk. 
 
 "He is the last of seven brothers," he added. 
 "His father was hanged." 
 
 "A good beginning," interjected Philip. 
 
 "There's just the trouble," said the inspector 
 144
 
 PHILIP TAKES UP THE TRAIL 
 
 quickly. "It wasn't a good beginning. This is 
 one of those peculiar cases of outlawry for 
 which the law itself is largely responsible, and 
 I don't know of any one I would say this to but 
 you. The father was hanged, as I have said. 
 Six months later it was discovered, beyond a 
 doubt, that the law had taken the life of an in 
 nocent man, and that DeBar had been sent to 
 the gallows by a combination of evidence fabri 
 cated entirely by the perjury of enemies. The 
 law should have vindicated itself. But it didn't. 
 Two of those who had plotted against DeBar 
 were arrested, tried and acquitted, a fact 
 which goes to prove the statement of a certain 
 great man that half of the time law is not jus 
 tice. There is no need of going into greater 
 detail about the trials and the popular senti 
 ment afterward. In December of '96 DeBar's 
 seven sons took justice into their own hands. 
 In one night they killed the three men chiefly 
 instrumental in sending their father to his 
 death, and fled into the North." 
 
 145
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "Good !" exclaimed Philip. 
 
 The word shot from him before he had 
 thought. At first he flushed, then sat bolt up 
 right and smiled frankly into the inspector's 
 face as he watched the effect of his indiscretion. 
 
 "So many people thought at the time," said 
 MacGregor, eying him with curious sharpness. 
 "Especially the women. For that reason the 
 first three who were caught were merely con 
 victed of manslaughter instead of murder. 
 They served their sentences, were given two 
 years each for good behavior, and are some 
 where in South America. The fourth killed 
 himself when he was taken near Moose Fac 
 tory, and the other three went what the law 
 calls 'bad.' Henry, the oldest of them all, 
 killed the officer who was bringing him down 
 from Prince Albert in '99, and was afterward 
 executed. Paul, the sixth, returned to his na 
 tive town seven years after the hanging of his 
 father and was captured after wounding two 
 146
 
 PHILIP TAKES UP THE TRAIL 
 
 of the officers who went in pursuit of him. He 
 is now in an insane asylum." 
 
 The inspector paused, and ran his eyes over a 
 fresh slip of paper. 
 
 "And all this," said Philip in a low voice, 
 "because of a crime committed by the law 
 itself. Five men hung, one a suicide, three in 
 prison and one in an insane asylum because 
 of a blunder of the law !" 
 
 "The king can do no wrong," said Mac- 
 Gregor with gentle irony, "and neither can the 
 law. Remember that, Philip, as long as you 
 are in the service. The law may break up 
 homes, ruin states, set itself a Nemesis on inno 
 cent men's heels but it can do no wrong. It 
 is the Juggernaut before which we all must bow 
 our heads, even you and I, and when by any 
 chance it makes a mistake, it is still law, and 
 unassailable. It is the greatest weapon of the 
 clever and the rich, so it bears a moral. Be 
 clever, or be rich." 
 
 147
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "And William DeBar, the seventh broth 
 er " began Philip. 
 
 "Is tremendously clever, but not rich," fin 
 ished the inspector. "He has caused us more 
 trouble than any other man in Canada. He is 
 the youngest of the seven brothers, and you 
 know there are curious superstitions about sev 
 enth brothers. In the first pursuit after the 
 private hanging he shot two men. He killed a 
 third in an attempt to save his brother at Moose 
 Factory. Since then, Forbes, Bannock, Fleish- 
 am and Gresham have disappeared, and they 
 all went out after him. They were all good 
 men, powerful physically, skilled in the ways of 
 the wilderness, and as brave as tigers. Yet 
 they all failed. And not only that, they lost 
 their lives. Whether DeBar killed them, or led 
 them on to a death for which his hands were 
 not directly responsible, we have never known. 
 The fact remains that they went out after De 
 Bar and died. I am not superstitious, but I 
 am beginning to think that DeBar is more than 
 148
 
 PHILIP TAKES UP THE TRAIL 
 
 a match for any one man. What do you say ? 
 Will you go with Moody, or " 
 
 "I'll go alone, with your permission," said 
 Philip. 
 
 The inspector's voice at once fell into its for 
 mal tone of command. 
 
 "Then you may prepare to leave at once," he 
 said. "The factor at Fond du Lac will put you 
 next to your man. Whatever else you require 
 I will give you in writing some time to-day." 
 
 Philip accepted this as signifying that the in 
 terview was at an end, and rose from his seat. 
 
 That night he added a postscript to the letter 
 which he had written home, saying that for a 
 long time he would not be heard from again. 
 The midnight train was bearing him toward 
 Le Pas. 
 
 149
 
 CHAPTER X 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 FOUR hundred miles as an arrow might 
 fly, five hundred by snowshoes and dog- 
 sledge ; up the Pelican Lake waterway, straight 
 north along the edge of the Geikie Barrens, and 
 from Wollaston westward, Philip hurried not 
 toward the hiding place of William DeBar, but 
 toward Lac Bain. 
 
 A sledge and six dogs with a half-breed 
 driver took him from Le Pas as far as the 
 Churchill; with two Crees, on snow-shoes, he 
 struck into the Reindeer country, and two 
 weeks later bought a sledge and three dogs at 
 an Indian camp on the Waterfound. On the 
 second day, in the barrens to the west, one of 
 the dogs slit his foot on a piece of ice ; on the 
 third day the two remaining dogs went lame, 
 150
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 and Philip and his guide struck camp at the 
 headwater of the Gray Beaver, sixty miles 
 from Lac Bain. It was impossible for the dogs 
 to move the following day, so Philip left his 
 Indian to bring them in later and struck out 
 alone. 
 
 That day he traveled nearly thirty miles, 
 over a country broken by timbered ridges, and 
 toward evening came to the beginning of the 
 open country that lay between him and the for 
 ests about Lac Bain. It had been a hard day's 
 travel, but he did not feel exhausted. The full 
 moon was rising at nine o'clock, and Philip 
 rested for two hours, cooking and eating his 
 supper, and then resumed his journey, deter 
 mined to make sufficient progress before camp 
 ing to enable him to reach the post by the 
 following noon. It was midnight when he put 
 up his light tent, built a fire, and went to sleep. 
 He was up again at dawn. At two o'clock he 
 came into the clearing about Lac Bain. As he 
 hurried to Breed's quarters he wondered if
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 Colonel Becker or Isobel had seen him from 
 their window. He had noticed that the curtain 
 was up, and that a thin spiral of smoke was 
 rising from the clay chimney that descended to 
 the fireplace in their room. 
 
 He found Breed, the factor, poring over one 
 of the ledgers which he and Colonel Becker had 
 examined. He started to his feet when he saw 
 Philip. 
 
 "Where in the name of blazes have you 
 been?" were his first words, as he held out a 
 hand. "I've been hunting the country over for 
 you, and had about come to the conclusion that 
 you and Bucky Nome were dead." 
 
 "Hunting forme," said Philip. "What for?" 
 
 Breed shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "The colonel an' Miss Isobel," he said. 
 "They wanted to see you so bad that I had men 
 out for three days after you'd gone looking for 
 you. Couldn't even find your trail. I'm curi 
 ous to know what was up." 
 
 Philip laughed. He felt a tingling joy run- 
 152
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 ning through every vein in his body. It was 
 difficult for him to repress the trembling eager 
 ness in his voice, as he said : "Well, I'm here. 
 I wonder if they want to see me now." 
 
 "Suppose they do," replied Breed, slowly 
 lighting his pipe. "But you've hung off too 
 long. They're gone." 
 
 "Gone?" Philip stared at the factor. 
 
 "Gone ?" he demanded again. 
 
 "Left this morning for Churchill," af 
 firmed Breed. "Two sledges, two Indians, the 
 colonel and Miss Isobel." 
 
 For a few moments Philip stood in silence, 
 staring straight out through the one window of 
 the room with his back to the factor. 
 
 "Did they leave any word for me ?" he asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then I must follow them!" He spoke the 
 words more to himself than to Breed. The 
 factor regarded him in undisguised astonish 
 ment and Philip, turning toward him, hastened 
 to add : "I can't tell you why, Breed but it's 
 153
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 necessary that I overtake them as soon as pos 
 sible. I don't want to lose a day not an hour. 
 Can you lend me a team and a driver ?" 
 
 "I've got a scrub team," said Breed, "but 
 there isn't another man that I can spare from 
 the post. There's LeCroix, ten miles to the 
 west. If you can wait until to-morrow " 
 
 "I must follow this afternoon now," in 
 terrupted Philip. "They will have left a clean 
 trail behind, and I can overtake them some 
 time to-morrow. Will you have the team made 
 ready for me a light sledge, if you've got it." 
 
 By three o'clock he was on the trail again. 
 Breed had spoken truthfully when he said that 
 his dogs were scrubs. There were four of 
 them, two mongrels, one blind huskie, and a 
 mamelute that ran lame. And besides this 
 handicap, Philip found that his own endurance 
 was fast reaching the ebbing point. He had 
 traveled sixty miles in a day and a half, and 
 his legs and back began to show signs of the 
 strain. In spite of this fact, his spirits rose 
 154
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 with every mile he placed behind him. He 
 knew that it would be impossible for Isobel and 
 her father to stand the hardship of fast and. 
 continued travel. At the most they would not 
 make more than twenty miles in a day, and 
 even with his scrub team he could make thirty, 
 and would probably overtake them at the end 
 of the next day. And then it occurred to him, 
 with a pleasurable thrill, that to find Isobel 
 again on the trail, as he had first seen her, 
 would be a hundred times better than finding 
 her at Lac Bain. He would accompany her 
 and the colonel to Churchill. They would be 
 together for days, and at the end of that time 
 He laughed low and joyously, and for a 
 spell he urged the dogs into a swifter pace. 
 That he had correctly estimated the speed of 
 those ahead of him he was convinced, when, 
 two hours later, he came upon the remains of 
 their mid-day camp-fire, nine or ten miles from 
 Lac Bain. It was dark when he reached this 
 point. There were glowing embers still in the 
 
 155
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 fire, and these he stirred into life, adding arm- 
 fuls of dry wood to the flames. About him in 
 the snow he found the prints of Isobel's little 
 feet, and in the flood of joy and hope that was 
 sweeping more and more into his life he sang 
 and whistled, and forgot that he was alone in 
 a desolation of blackness that made even the 
 dogs slink nearer to the fire. He would camp 
 here where Isobel had been only a few hours 
 before. If he traveled hard he would overtake 
 them by the next noon. 
 
 But he had underestimated his own exhaus 
 tion. After he had put up his tent before the 
 fire he made himself a bed of balsam boughs 
 and fell into a deep sleep, from which neither 
 dawn nor the restless movements of the dogs 
 could awaken him. When at last he opened 
 his eyes it was broad day. He jumped to his 
 feet and looked at his watch. It was nine 
 y clock, and after ten before he again took up 
 (he pursuit of the two sledges. Not until sev 
 eral hours later did he give up hope of overtak- 
 I.S6
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 ing Isobel and her father as he had planned, 
 and he reproved himself roundly for having 
 overslept. The afternoon was half gone be 
 fore he struck their camp of the preceding 
 evening, and he knew that, because of his own 
 loss of time, Isobel was still as far ahead of 
 him as when he had left Lac Bain. 
 
 He made up some of this time by following 
 the trail for an hour when the moon was at 
 its highest, and then pitched his tent. He was 
 up again the next morning and breaking camp 
 before it was light. Scarcely had he traveled 
 an hour over the clear-cut trail ahead of him 
 when he suddenly halted his dogs with a loud 
 cry of command and astonishment. In a small 
 open the trails of the two sledges separated. 
 One continued straight east, toward Churchill, 
 while the other turned almost at right angles 
 into the south. For a few moments he could 
 find no explanation for this occurrence. Then 
 he decided that one of the Indians had struck 
 southward, either to hunt, or on some short 
 
 IS"
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 mission, and that he would join the other 
 sledge farther on. Convinced that this was 
 the right solution, Philip continued over the 
 Churchill trail. A little later, to his despair, it 
 began to snow so heavily that the trail which 
 he was following was quickly obliterated. 
 There was but one thing for him to do now, 
 and that was to hasten on to Fort Churchill, 
 giving up all hope of finding Isobel and the 
 colonel before he met them there. 
 
 Four days later he came into the post. The 
 news that awaited him struck him dumb. Iso 
 bel and her father, with one Indian, had gone 
 with the sledge into the South. The Indian 
 who had driven on to Churchill could give no 
 further information, except that he knew the 
 colonel and his daughter had suddenly changed 
 their minds about coming to Churchill. Per 
 haps they had gone to Nelson House, or York 
 Factory or even to Le Pas. He did not know. 
 
 It was with a heavy heart that Philip turned 
 his face once more toward Lac Bain. He 
 158
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 could not repress a laugh, bitter and filled with 
 disappointment, as he thought how fate was 
 playing against him. If he had not overslept 
 he would have caught up with the sledges be 
 fore they separated, if he had not forced him 
 self into this assignment it was possible that 
 Isobel and her father would have come to him. 
 They knew that his detachment was at Prince 
 Albert and they were going south. He had 
 little doubt but that they were striking for 
 Nelson House, and from Nelson House to civ 
 ilization there was but one trail, that which led 
 to Le Pas and Etomami. And Etomami was 
 but two hours by rail from Prince Albert. 
 
 He carried in his breast pocket a bit of writ 
 ten information which he had obtained from 
 the Churchill factor that helped to soften, in 
 a way, the sting of his disappointment. It was 
 Colonel Becker's London address and Iso- 
 bel's, and he quickly laid out for himself new 
 plans of action. He would write to Mac- 
 Gregor from Lac Bain, asking him to put in 
 
 159
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 at once the necessary application for the pur 
 chase of his release from the service. As soon 
 as he was free he would go to London. He 
 would call on Isobel like a gentleman, he told 
 himself. Perhaps, after all, it would be the 
 better way. 
 
 But first, there was DeBar. 
 
 As he had been feverishly anxious to return 
 into the North, so, now, he was anxious to 
 have this affair with DeBar over with. He 
 lost no time at Lac Bain, writing his letter to 
 Inspector MacGregor on the same day that he 
 arrived. Only two of the dogs which the In 
 dian had brought into the post were fit to 
 travel, and with these, and a light sledge on 
 which he packed his equipment he set off alone 
 for Fond du Lac. A week later he reached the 
 post. He found Hutt, the factor, abed with a 
 sprained knee, and the only other men at the 
 post were three Chippewayans, who could 
 neither talk nor understand English. 
 
 "DeBar is gone," groaned Hutt, after 
 160
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 Philip had made himself known. "A rascal of 
 a Frenchman came in last night on his way 
 to the Grand Rapid, and this morning DeBar 
 was missing. I had the Chippewayans in, and 
 they say he left early in the night with his 
 sledge and one big bull of a hound that he 
 hangs to like grim death. I'd kill that damned 
 Indian you came up with. I believe it was he 
 that told the Frenchman there was an officer 
 on the way." 
 
 "Is the Frenchman here?" asked Philip. 
 
 "Gone!" groaned Hutt again, turning his 
 twisted knee. "He left for the Grand Rapid 
 this morning, and there isn't another dog or 
 sledge at the post. This winter has been death 
 on the dogs, and what few are left are out on 
 the trap-lines. DeBar knows you're after him, 
 sure as fate, and he's taken a trail toward the 
 Athabasca. The best I can do is to let you 
 have a Chippewayan who'll go with you as far 
 as the Chariot. That's the end of his territory, 
 and what you'll do after that God only knows." 
 161
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "111 take the chance," said Philip. "We'll 
 start after dinner. I've got two dogs, a little 
 lame, but even at that they'll have DeBarV 
 outfit handicapped." 
 
 It was less than two hours later when Philip 
 and the Chippewayan set off into the western 
 forests, the Indian ahead and Philip behind, 
 with the dogs and sledge between them. Both 
 men were traveling light. Philip had even 
 strapped his carbine and small emergency bag 
 to the toboggan, and carried only his service 
 revolver at his belt. It was one o'clock and 
 the last slanting beams of the winter sun, heat- 
 less and only cheering to the eye, were fast 
 dying away before the first dull gray approach 
 of desolate gloom which precedes for a few 
 hours the northern night. As the black forest 
 grew more and more somber about them, he 
 looked over the grayish yellow back of the 
 tugging huskies at the silent Indian striding 
 over the outlaw's trail, and a slight shiver 
 passed through him, a shiver that was nei- 
 162
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 ther of cold nor fear, yet which was accom 
 panied by an oppression which it was hard 
 for him to shake off. Deep down in his 
 heart Philip had painted a picture of William 
 DeBar of the man and it was a picture to 
 his liking. Such men he would like to know 
 and to call his friends. But now the deepening 
 gloom, the darkening of the sky above, the 
 gray picture ahead of him the Chippewayan, 
 as silent as the trees, the dogs pulling noise 
 lessly in their traces like slinking shadows, the 
 ghost-like desolation about him, all recalled 
 him to that other factor in the game, who was 
 DeBar the outlaw, and not DeBar the man. 
 In this same way, he imagined, Forbes, Ban 
 nock, Fleisham and Gresham had begun the 
 game, and they had lost. Perhaps they, too, 
 had gone out weakened by visions of the equity 
 of things, for the sympathy of man for man is 
 strong when they meet above the sixtieth. 
 
 DeBar was ahead of him DeBar the out 
 law, watching and scheming as he had watched 
 163
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 and schemed when the other four had played 
 against him. The game had grown old to him. 
 It had brought him victim after victim, and 
 each victim had made of him a more deadly 
 enemy of the next. Perhaps at this moment he 
 was not very far ahead, waiting to send him the 
 way of the others. The thought urged new 
 fire into Philip's blood. He spurted past the 
 dogs and stopped the Chippewayan, and then 
 examined the trail. It was old. The frost had 
 hardened in the huge footprints of DeBar's 
 big hound ; it had built a webby film over thf 
 square impressions of his snow-shoj thongs. 
 But what of that? Might not the trail still be 
 old, and DeBar a few hundred yards ahead of 
 him, waiting watching? 
 
 He went back to the sledge and unstrapped 
 his carbine. In a moment the first picture, the 
 first sympathy, was gone. It was not the law 
 which DeBar was fighting now. It was him 
 self. He walked ahead of the Indian, alert 
 listening and prepared. The crackling of a 
 164
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 frost-bitten tree startled him into stopping; the 
 snapping of a twig under its weight of ice and 
 snow sent strange thrills through him which 
 left him almost sweating. The sounds were 
 repeated again and again as they advanced, un 
 til he became accustomed to them. Yet at each 
 new sound his fingers gripped tighter about his 
 carbine and his heart beat a little faster. Once 
 or twice he spoke to the Indian, who under 
 stood no word he said and remained silent. 
 They built a fire and cooked their supper when 
 it grew too dark to travel. 
 
 Later, when it became lighter, they went on 
 hour after hour, through the night. At dawn 
 the trail was still old. There were the same 
 cobwebs of frost, the same signs to show that 
 DeBar and his Mackenzie hound had pre 
 ceded them a long time before. During the 
 next day and night they spent sixteen hours on 
 their snow-shoes and the lacework of frost in 
 DeBar's trail grew thinner. The next day 
 they traveled fourteen and the next twelve, 
 165
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 and there was no lace work of frost at all 
 There were hot coals under the ashes of De- 
 Bar's fires. The crumbs of his bannock were 
 soft. The toes of his Mackenzie hound left 
 warm, sharp imprints. It was then that they 
 came to the frozen water of the Chariot. The 
 Chippewayan turned back to Fond du Lac, and 
 Philip went on alone, the two dogs limping be 
 hind him with his outfit. 
 
 It was still early in the day when Philip 
 crossed the river into the barrens and with 
 each step now his pulse beat faster. DeBar 
 could not be far ahead of him. He was sure 
 of that. Very soon he must overtake him. 
 And then there would be a fight. In the 
 tense minutes that followed, the vision of Iso- 
 bel's beautiful face grew less and less distinct 
 in his mind. It was filled with something more 
 grim, something that tightened his muscles, 
 kept him ceaselessly alert. He would come on 
 DeBar and there would be a fight. DeBar 
 would not be taken by surprise. 
 166
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 At noon he halted and built a small fire be 
 tween two rocks, over which he boiled some tea 
 and warmed his meat. Each day he had built 
 three fires, but at the end of this day, wher 
 darkness stopped him again, it occurred to him 
 that since that morning DeBar had built but 
 one. Gray dawn had scarcely broken when he 
 again took up the pursuit. It was bitterly cold, 
 and a biting wind swept down across the bar 
 rens from the Arctic icebergs. His pocket ther 
 mometer registered sixty degrees below zero 
 when he left it open on the sledge, and six 
 times between dawn and dusk he built himself 
 fires. Again DeBar built but one, and this time 
 he found no bannock crumbs. 
 
 For the last twenty miles DeBar had gone 
 straight into the North. He continued straight 
 into the North the next day and several time^s 
 Philip scrutinized his map, which told him in 
 that direction there lay nothing but peopleless 
 barrens as far as the Great Slave. 
 
 There was growing in him now a fear a 
 167
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 fear that DeBar would beat him out in the 
 race. His limbs began to ache with a strange 
 pain and his progress was becoming slower. At 
 intervals he stopped to rest, and after each of 
 these intervals the pain seemed to gnaw deeper 
 at his bones, forcing him to limp, as the dogs 
 were limping behind him. He had felt it once 
 before, beyond Lac Bain, and knew what it 
 meant. His legs were giving out and DeBar 
 would beat him yet! The thought stirred him 
 on, and before he stopped again he came to 
 the edge of a little lake. DeBar had started 
 to cross the lake, and then, changing his mind, 
 had turned back and skirted the edge of it. 
 Philip followed the outlaw's trail with his eyes 
 and saw that he could strike it again and save 
 distance by crossing the snow-covered ice. 
 
 He went on, with dogs and sledge at his 
 heels, unconscious of the warning under 
 foot that had turned DeBar back. In mid- 
 lake he turned to urge the dogs into a faster 
 pace, and it was then that he heard under him 
 168
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 a hollow, trembling sound, growing in volume 
 even as he hesitated, until it surged in under 
 his feet from every shore, like the rolling 
 thunder of a ten-pin ball. With a loud cry to 
 the dogs he darted forward, but it was too late. 
 Behind him the ice crashed like brittle glass 
 and he saw sledge and dogs disappear as if 
 into an abyss. In an instant he had begun a 
 mad race to the shore a hundred feet ahead of 
 him. Ten paces more and he would have 
 reached it, when the toe of his snow-shoe 
 caught in a hummock of snow and ice. For a 
 flash it stopped him, and the moment's pause 
 was fatal. Before he could throw himself for 
 ward on his face in a last effort to save himself, 
 the ice gave way and he plunged through. In 
 his extremity he thought of DeBar, of possible 
 help even from the outlaw, and a terrible cry 
 for that help burst from his lips as he felt him 
 self going. The next instant he was sorry that 
 he had shouted. He was to his waist in water, 
 but his feet were on bottom. He saw now 
 169
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 what had happened, that the surface of the 
 water was a foot below the shell of ice, which 
 was scarcely more than an inch in thickness. 
 It was not difficult for him to kick off hi? 
 mow-shoes under the water, and he began 
 breaking his way ashore. 
 
 Five minutes later he dragged himself out, 
 stiff with the cold, his drenched clothing freez 
 ing as it came into contact with the air. His 
 first thought was of fire, and he ran up the 
 shore, his teeth chattering, and began tearing 
 off handfuls of bark from a birch. Not until 
 he was done and the bark was piled in a heap 
 beside the tree did the full horror of his situa 
 tion dawn upon him. His emergency pouch 
 was on the sledge, and in that pouch was his 
 waterproof box of matches! 
 
 He ran back to the edge of broken ice, un 
 conscious that he was almost sobbing in his 
 despair. There was no sign of the sledge, no 
 sound of the dogs, who might still be strug 
 gling in their traces. They were gone every' 
 170
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 thing food, fire, life itself. He dug out his 
 flint and steel from the bottom of a stiffening 
 pocket and knelt beside the bark, striking them 
 again and again, yet knowing that his efforts 
 were futile. He continued to strike until his 
 hands were purple and numb and his freezing 
 clothes almost shackled him to the ground. 
 
 "Good God!" he breathed. 
 
 He rose slowly, with a long, shuddering 
 breath and turned his eyes to where the out 
 law's trail swung from the lake into the North. 
 Even in that moment, as the blood in his veins 
 seemed congealing with the icy chill of death, 
 the irony of the situation was not lost upon 
 Philip. 
 
 "It's the law versus God, Billy," he chattered, 
 as if DeBar stood before him. "The law 
 wouldn't vindicate itself back there ten years 
 ago but I guess it's doing it now." 
 
 He dropped into DeBar's trail and began to 
 trot. 
 
 "At least it looks as if you're on the side of 
 171
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 the Mighty," he continued. "But we'll see 
 very soon Billy " 
 
 Ahead of him the trail ran up a ridge, 
 broken and scattered with rocks and stunted 
 scrub, and the sight of it gave him a little 
 hope. Hope died when he reached the top anrf 
 stared out over a mile of lifeless barren. 
 
 "You're my only chance, Billy," he shiv 
 ered. "Mebby, if you knew what had hap 
 pened, you'd turn back and give me the loan 
 of a match." 
 
 He tried to laugh at his own little joke, but 
 it was a ghastly attempt and his purpling lips 
 closed tightly as he stumbled down the ridge. 
 As his legs grew weaker and his blood more 
 sluggish, his mind seemed to work faster, and 
 the multitude of thoughts that surged through 
 his brain made him oblivious of the first gnaw 
 ing of a strange dull pain. He was freezing. 
 He knew that without feeling pain. He had 
 before him, not hours, but minutes of life, and 
 he knew that, too. His arms might have been 
 
 172
 
 ISOBEL'S DISAPPEARANCE 
 
 cut off at the shoulders for all feeling that was 
 left in them; he noticed, as he stumbled along 
 in a half run, that he could not bend his fingers. 
 At every step his legs grew heavier and his feet 
 were now leaden weights. Yet he was sur 
 prised to find that the first horror of his situa 
 tion had left him. It did not seem that death 
 was only a few hundred yards away, and he 
 round himself thinking of MacGregor, of 
 home, and then only of Isobel. He wondered, 
 after that, if some one of the other four had 
 played the game, and lost, in this same way; 
 and he wondered, too, if his bones would never 
 be found, as theirs had never been. 
 
 He stopped again on a snow ridge. He had 
 come a quarter of a mile, though it seemed that 
 he had traveled ten times that distance. 
 
 "Sixty degrees below zero and it's the vin 
 dication of the law !" 
 
 His voice scarcely broke between his purple 
 lips now, and the bitter sweep of wind swayed 
 him as he stood. 
 
 173
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE LAW VERSUS THE MAN 
 
 SUDDENLY a great thrill shot through 
 Philip, and for an instant he stood rigid. 
 What was that he saw out in the gray gloom 
 of Arctic desolation, creeping up, up, up, al 
 most black at its beginning, and dying away 
 like a ghostly winding-sheet? A gurgling cry 
 rose in his throat, and he went on, panting now 
 like a broken-winded beast in his excitement. 
 It grew near, blacker, warmer. He fancied 
 that he could feel its heat, which was the new 
 fire of life blazing within him. 
 
 He went down between two great drifts into 
 a pit which seemed bottomless. He crawled to 
 the top of the second, using his pulseless hands 
 like sticks in the snow, and at the top some 
 thing rose from the other side of the drift to 
 meet him. 
 
 174
 
 THE LAW VERSUS THE MAN 
 
 It was a face, a fierce, bearded face, the 
 gaunt starvation in it hidden by his own blind 
 ness. It seemed like the face of an ogre, ter 
 rible, threatening, and he knew that it was the 
 face of William DeBar, the seventh brother. 
 
 He launched himself forward, and the other 
 launched himself forward, and they met in a 
 struggle which was pathetic in its weakness, 
 and rolled together to the bottom of the drift. 
 Yet the struggle was no less terrible because of 
 that weakness. It was a struggle between two 
 lingering sparks of human life and when these 
 two sparks had flickered and blazed and died 
 down, the two men lay gasping, an arm's reach 
 from each other. 
 
 Philip's eyes went to the fire. It was a small 
 fire, burning more brightly as he looked, and 
 he longed to throw himself upon it so that the 
 flames might eat into his flesh. He had mum 
 bled something about police, arrest and murder 
 during the struggle, but DeBar spoke for the 
 first time now. 
 
 175
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "You're cold," he said. 
 
 "I'm freezing to death," said Philip. 
 
 "And I'm starving." 
 
 DeBar rose to his feet. Philip drew him 
 self together, as if expecting an attack, but in 
 place of it DeBar held out a warmly mittened 
 hand. 
 
 "You've got to get those clothes off quick 
 or you'll die," he said. "Here !" 
 
 Mechanically Philip reached up his hand, 
 and DeBar took him to his sledge behind the 
 fire and wrapped about him a thick blanket. 
 Then he drew out a sheath knife and ripped 
 the frozen legs of his trousers up and the 
 sleeves of his coat down, cut the string of his 
 shoe-packs and slit his heavy German socks, 
 and after that he rubbed his feet and legs and 
 arms until Philip began to feel a sting like the 
 prickly bite of nettles. 
 
 "Ten minutes more and you'd been gone," 
 said DeBar. 
 
 He wrapped a second blanket around Philip, 
 176
 
 THE LAW VERSUS THE MAN 
 
 and dragged the sledge on which he was lying 
 still nearer to the fire. Then he threw on a 
 fresh armful of dry sticks and from a pocket 
 of his coat drew forth something small and 
 red and frozen, which was the carcass of a bird 
 about the size of a robin. DeBar held it up 
 between his forefinger and thumb, and looking 
 at Philip, the flash of a smile passed for an 
 instant over his grizzled face. 
 
 "Dinner," he said, and Philip could not fail 
 to catch the low chuckling note of humor in 
 his voice. "It's a Whisky Jack, man, an he's 
 the first and last living thing I've seen in the 
 way of fowl between here and Fond du Lac 
 He weighs four ounces if he weighs an ounce, 
 and we'll feast on him shortly. I haven't had 
 a full mouth of grub since day before yester 
 day morning, but you're welcome to a half of 
 him, if you're hungry enough." 
 
 "Where'd your chuck go?" asked Philip. 
 
 He was conscious of a new warmth and 
 comfort in his veins, but it was not this that 
 177
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 sent a heat into his face at the outlaw's offer. 
 DeBar had saved his life, and now, when De- 
 Bar might have killed him, he was offering him 
 food. The man was spitting the bird on the 
 sharpened end of a stick, and when he had done 
 this he pointed to the big Mackenzie hound, 
 tied to the broken stub of a dead sapling. 
 
 "I brought enough bannock to carry me to 
 Chippewayan, but he got into it the first night, 
 and what he left was crumbs. You lost yours 
 in the lake, eh?" 
 
 "Dogs and everything," said Philip. "Even 
 matches." 
 
 "Those ice-traps are bad," said DeBar com- 
 panionably, slowly turning the bird. "You al 
 ways want to test the lakes in this country. 
 Most of 'em come from bog springs, and after 
 they freeze, the water drops. Guess you'd had 
 me pretty soon if it hadn't been for the lake, 
 wouldn't you ?" 
 
 He grinned, and to his own astonishment 
 Philip grinned. 
 
 178
 
 THE LAW VERSUS THE MAN 
 
 "I was tight after you, Bill." 
 
 "Ho! ho! ho!" laughed the outlaw. "That 
 sounds good! I've gone by another name, of 
 course, and that's the first time I've heard my 
 own since " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, and the laugh left his 
 voice and face. 
 
 "It sounds homelike," he added more 
 gently. "\Vhat's yours, pardner?" 
 
 "Steele Philip Steele, of the R. N. W. M. 
 P.," said Philip. 
 
 "Used to know a Steele once," went on De- 
 Bar. "That was back where it happened. 
 He was one of my friends." 
 
 For a moment he turned his eyes on Philip. 
 They were deep gray eyes, set well apart in a 
 face that among a hundred others Philip would 
 have picked out for its frankness and courage. 
 He knew that the man before him was not 
 much more than his own age, yet he appeared 
 ten years older. 
 
 He sat up on his sledge as DeBar left his 
 179
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 bird to thrust sticks into the snow, on the ends 
 of which he hung Philip's frozen garments 
 close to the fire. From the man Philip's eyes 
 traveled to the dog. The hound yawned in the 
 heat and he saw that one of his fangs was 
 gone. 
 
 "If you're starving, why don't you kill the 
 dog?" he asked. 
 
 DeBar turned quickly, his white teeth gleam 
 ing through his beard. 
 
 "Because he's the best friend I've got on 
 earth, or next to the best," he said warmly. 
 "He's stuck to me through thick and thin for 
 ten years. He starved with me, and fought 
 with me, and half died with me, and he's going 
 to live with me as long as I live. Would you 
 eat the flesh of your brother, Steele? He's my 
 brother the last that your glorious law has 
 left to me. Would you kill him if you were 
 me?" 
 
 Something stuck hard and fast in Philip's 
 throat, and he made no reply. DeBar came 
 1 80
 
 THE LAW VERSUS THE MAN 
 
 toward him with the hot bird on the end of his 
 stick. With his knife the outlaw cut the bird 
 into two equal parts, and one of these parts he 
 cut into quarters. One of the smaller pieces 
 he tossed to the hound, who devoured it at a 
 gulp. The half he stuck on the end of his 
 knife and offered to his companion. 
 
 "No," said Philip. "I can't." 
 
 The eyes of the two men met, and DeBar, 
 on his knees, slowly settled back, still gazing 
 at the other. In the eyes of one there was 
 understanding, in those of the other stern de 
 termination. 
 
 "See here," said DeBar, after a moment, 
 "don't be a fool, Steele. Let's forget, for a 
 little while. God knows what's going to hap 
 pen to both of us to-morrow or next day, and 
 it'll be easier to die with company than alone, 
 won't it? Let's forget that you're the Law 
 and I'm the Man, and that I've killed one or 
 two. We're both in the same boat, and we 
 might as well be a little bit friendly for a few 
 181
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 hours, and shake hands, and be at peace when 
 the last minute comes. If we get out of this, 
 and find grub, we'll fight fair and square, and 
 the best man wins. Be square with me, old 
 man, and I'll be square with you, s'elp me 
 God!" 
 
 He reached out a hand, gnarled, knotted, 
 covered with callouses and scars, and with a 
 strange sound in his throat Philip caught it 
 tightly in his own. 
 
 "I'll be square, Bill!" he cried. "I swear 
 that I'll be square on those conditions. If we 
 find grub, and live, we'll fight it out alone 
 and the best man wins. But I've had food to 
 day, and you're starving. Eat that and I'll 
 still be in better condition than you. Eat it, 
 and we'll smoke. Praise God I've got my pipe 
 and tobacco !" 
 
 They settled back close in the lee of the drift, 
 and the wind swirled white clouds of snow- 
 mist over their heads, while DeBar ate his 
 bird and Philip smoked. The food that went 
 182
 
 THE LAW VERSUS THE MAN 
 
 down DeBar's throat was only a morsel, but it 
 put new life into him, and he gathered fresh 
 armfuls of sticks and sapling boughs until the 
 fire burned Philip's face and his drying clothes 
 sent up clouds of steam. Once, a hundred 
 yards out in the plain, Philip heard the outlaw 
 burst into a snatch of wild forest song as he 
 pulled down a dead stub. 
 
 "Seems good to have comp'ny," he said, 
 when he came back with his load. "My God, 
 do you know I've never felt quite like this so 
 easy and happy like, since years and years? I 
 wonder if it is because I know the end is near?" 
 
 "There's still hope," replied Philip. 
 
 "Hope!" cried DeBar. "It's more than 
 hope, man. It's a certainty for me the end, 
 I mean. Don't you see, Phil " He came and 
 sat down close to the other on the sledge, and 
 spoke as if he had known him for years. "It's 
 got to be the end for me, and I guess that's 
 what makes me cheerful like. I'm going tc 
 tell you about it, if you don't mind." 
 
 183
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "I don't mind ; I want to hear," said Philip, 
 and he edged a little nearer, until they sat 
 shoulder to shoulder. 
 
 "It's got to be the end," repeated DeBar, in 
 a low voice. "If we get out of this, and fight, 
 and you win, it'll be because I'm dead, Phil. 
 D'ye understand? I'll be dead when the fight 
 ends, if you win. That'll be one end " 
 
 "But if you win, Bill." 
 
 A flash of joy shot into DeBar's eyes. 
 
 "Then that'll be the other end," he said more 
 softly still. He pointed to the big Mackenzie 
 hound. "I said he was next to my best friend 
 on earth, Phil. The other is a girl who lived 
 back there when it happened, years and years 
 ago. She's thirty now, and she's stuck to me, 
 and prayed for me, and believed in me for 
 a'most since we were kids together, an' she's 
 written to me 'Frank Symmonds' once a 
 month for ten years. God bless her heart! 
 That is what's kept me alive, and in every let 
 ter she's begged me to let her come to me,
 
 THE LAW VERSUS THE MAN 
 
 wherever I was. But I guess the devil didn\ 
 get quite all of me, for I couldn't, 'n' wouldn't 
 But I've give in now, and we've fixed it up be* 
 tween us. By this time she's on her way to 
 my brothers in South America, and if I win 
 when we fight I'm going where she is. And 
 that's the other end, Phil, so you see why I'm 
 happy. There's sure to be an end of it for me 
 soon." 
 
 He bowed his wild, unshorn head in his mit- 
 tened hands, and for a time there was silence 
 between them. 
 
 Philip broke it, almost in a whisper. 
 
 "Why don't you kill me here now while 
 I'm sitting helpless beside you, and you've a 
 knife in your belt?" 
 
 DeBar lifted his head slowly and looked 
 with astonishment into his companion's face. 
 
 "I'm not a murderer !" he said. 
 
 "But you've killed other men," persisted 
 Philip. 
 
 "Three, besides those we hung," replied 
 '85
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 Bar calmly. "One at Moose Factory, when 1 
 tried to help John, and the other two up here. 
 They were like you hunting me down, and I 
 'cilled 'em in fair fight. Was that murder? 
 Should I stand by and be shot like an animal 
 just because it's the law that's doing it? 
 Would you?" 
 
 He rose without waiting for an answer and 
 felt of the clothes beside the fire. 
 
 "Dry enough," he said. "Put 'em on and 
 we'll be hiking." 
 
 Philip dressed, and looked at his compass. 
 
 "Still north?" he asked. "Chippewayan is 
 south and west." 
 
 "North," said DeBar. "I know of a breed 
 who lives on Red Porcupine Creek, which runs 
 into the Slave. If we can find him we'll ge 
 grub, and if we don't " 
 
 He laughed openly into the other's face. 
 
 "We won't fight," said Philip, understand 
 ing him. 
 
 "No, we won't fight, but we'll wrap up in the 
 186
 
 THE LAW VERSUS THE MAN 
 
 same blankets, and die, with Woonga, there, 
 keeping our backs warm until the last. Eh, 
 Woonga, will you do that?" 
 
 He turned cheerily to the dog, and Woonga 
 rose slowly and with unmistakable stiffness of 
 limb, and was fastened in the sledge traces. 
 
 They went on through the desolate gloom of 
 afternoon, which in late winter is, above the 
 sixtieth, all but night. Ahead of them there 
 seemed to rise billow upon billow of snow- 
 mountains, which dwarfed themselves into 
 drifted dunes when they approached, and the 
 heaven above them, and the horizon on all 
 sides of them were shut out from their vision 
 by a white mist which was intangible and with 
 out substance and yet which rose like a wall 
 before their eyes. It was one chaos of white 
 mingling with another chaos of white, a chaos 
 of white earth smothered and torn by the Arc 
 tic wind under a chaos of white sky; and 
 through it all, saplings that one might have 
 twisted and broken over his knee were magni- 
 187
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 fied into giants at a distance of half a hundred 
 paces, and men and dog looked like huge spec 
 ters moving with bowed heads through a world 
 that was no longer a world of life, but of dead 
 and silent things. And up out of this, after 9 
 time, rose DeBar's voice, chanting in tones 
 filled with the savagery of the North, a wild 
 song that was half breed and half French, 
 which the forest men sing in their joy when 
 coming very near to home. 
 
 They went on, hour after hour, until day 
 gloom thickened into night, and night drifted 
 upward to give place to gray dawn, plodding 
 steadily north, resting now and then, fighting 
 each mile of the way to the Red Porcupine 
 against the stinging lashes of the Arctic wind. 
 And through it all it was DeBar's voice that 
 rose in encouragement to the dog limping be 
 hind him and to the man limping behind the 
 dog now in song, now in the wild shouting 
 of the sledge-driver, his face thin and gaunt 
 in its starved whiteness, but his eyes alive with 
 188
 
 THE LAW VERSUS THE MAN 
 
 a strange fire. And it was DeBar who lifted 
 his mittened hands to the leaden chaos of sky 
 when they came to the frozen streak that was 
 the Red Porcupine, and said, in a voice through 
 which there ran a strange thrill of something 
 deep and mighty, "God in Heaven be praised, 
 this is the end !" 
 
 He started into a trot now, and the dog 
 trotted behind him, and behind the dog trotted 
 Philip, wondering, as he had wondered a dozen 
 times before that night, if DeBar were going 
 mad. Five hundred yards down the stream 
 DeBar stopped in his tracks, stared for a mo 
 ment into the breaking gloom of the shore, and 
 turned to Philip. He spoke in a voice low and 
 trembling, as if overcome for the moment by 
 some strong emotion. 
 
 "See see there!" he whispered. "I've hit 
 it, Philip Steele, and what does it mean ? I've 
 come over seventy miles of barren, through 
 night an' storm, an' I've hit Pierre Thoreau's 
 cabin as fair as a shot! Oh, man, man, I 
 189
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 couldn't do it once in ten thousand times !" He 
 gripped Philip's arm, and his voice rose in ex 
 cited triumph. "I tell 'ee, it means that that 
 God 'r something must be with me !" 
 
 "With us," said Philip, staring hard. 
 
 "With me," replied DeBar so fiercely that 
 the other started involuntarily. "It's a mir 
 acle, an omen, and it means that I'm going to 
 win !" His fingers gripped deeper, and he said 
 more gently, "Phil, I've grown to like you, and 
 if you believe in God as we believe in Him up 
 here if you believe He tells things in the 
 stars, the winds and things like this, if you're 
 afraid of death take some grub and go back ! 
 I mean it, Phil, for if you stay, an' fight, there 
 is going to be but one end. I will kill you 1" 
 
 IQO
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE FIGHT AND A STRANGE VISITOR 
 
 AT DeBar's words the blood leaped swiftly 
 through Philip's veins, and he laughed 
 as he flung the outlaw's hand from his arm. 
 
 "I'm not afraid of death," he cried angrily. 
 "Don't take me for a child, William DeBar. 
 How long since you found this God of yours?" 
 
 He spoke the words half tauntingly, and as 
 soon regretted them, for in a voice that be 
 trayed no anger at the slur DeBar said : "Ever 
 since my mother taught me the first prayer, 
 Phil. I've killed three men and I've helped to 
 hang three others, and still I believe in a God, 
 and I've half a notion He believes a little bit in 
 me, in spite of the laws made down in Ottawa." 
 
 The cabin loomed up amid a shelter of spruce 
 like a black shadow, and when they climbed up 
 191
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 the bank to it they found the snow drifted high 
 under the window and against the door. 
 
 "He's gone Pierre, I mean," said DeBar 
 over his shoulder as he kicked the snow away. 
 "He hasn't come back from New Year's at 
 Fort Smith." 
 
 The door had no lock or bolt, and they en 
 tered. It was yet too dark for them to see dis 
 tinctly, and DeBar struck a match. On the 
 table was a tin oil lamp, which he lighted. It 
 revealed a neatly kept interior about a dozen 
 feet square, with two bunks, several chairs, a 
 table, and a sheet iron stove behind which was 
 piled a supply of wood. DeBar pointed to a 
 shelf on which were a number of tin boxes, 
 their covers weighted down by chunks of wood. 
 
 "Grub!" he said. 
 
 And Philip, pointing to the wood, added, 
 "Fire fire and grub." 
 
 There was something in his voice which the 
 other could not fail to understand, and there 
 was an uncomfortable silence as Philip put fuel 
 192
 
 -THE FIGHT A STRANGE VISITOR 
 
 into the stove and DeBar searched among the 
 food cans. 
 
 "Here's bannock and cooked meat frozen," 
 he said, "and beans." 
 
 He placed tins of each on the stove and then 
 sat down beside the roaring fire, which was 
 already beginning to diffuse a heat. He held 
 out his twisted and knotted hands, blue and 
 shaking with cold, and looked up at Philip, who 
 stood opposite him. 
 
 He spoke no words, and yet there was some 
 thing in his eyes which made the latter cry out 
 softly, and with a feeling which he tried to 
 hide: "DeBar, I wish to God it was over!" 
 
 "So do I," said DeBar. 
 
 He rubbed his hands and tv/isted them until 
 the knuckles cracked. 
 
 "I'm not afraid and I know that you're not, 
 Phil," he went on, with his eyes on the top of 
 the stove, "but I wish it was over, just the 
 same. Somehow I'd a'most rather stay up here 
 another year or two than kill you." 
 
 193
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "Kill me!" exclaimed Philip, the old fire 
 leaping back into his veins. 
 
 DeBar's quiet voice, his extraordinary self- 
 confidence, sent a flush of anger into Philip's 
 face. 
 
 "You're talking to me again as if I were a 
 child, DeBar. My instructions were to bring 
 you back, dead or alive and I'm going to!" 
 
 "We won't quarrel about it, Phil," replied 
 the outlaw as quietly as before. "Only I wish 
 it wasn't you I'm going to fight. I'd rather kill 
 half-a-dozen like the others than you." 
 
 "I see," said Philip, with a perceptible sneer 
 in his voice. "You're trying to work upon my 
 sympathy so that I will follow your suggestion 
 and go back. Eh ?" 
 
 "You'd be a coward if you did that," re 
 torted DeBar quickly. "How are we going to 
 settle it, Phil?" 
 
 Philip drew his frozen revolver from its 
 holster and held it over the stove. 
 
 "If I wasn't a crack shot, and couldn't center 
 194
 
 THE FIGHT A STRANGE VISITOR 
 
 a two-inch bull's-eye three times out of four at 
 thirty paces, I'd say pistols." 
 
 "I can't do that," said DeBar unhesitatingly, 
 "but I have hit a wolf twice out of five shots. 
 It'll be a quick, easy way, and we'll settle it 
 with our revolvers. Going to shoot to kill ?" 
 
 "No, if I can help it. In the excitement a 
 shot may kill, but I want to take you back alive, 
 so I'll wing you once or twice first" 
 
 "I always shoot to kill," replied DeBar, with 
 out lifting his head. "Any word you'd like to 
 have sent home, Phil?" 
 
 In the other's silence DeBar looked up. 
 
 "I mean it," he said, in a low earnest voice. 
 "Even from your point of view it might hap 
 pen, Phil, and you've got friends somewhere. 
 If anything should happen to me you'll find a 
 letter in my pocket. I want you to write to 
 to her an' tell her I died in an accident. 
 Will you?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Philip. "As for me, you'll 
 find addresses in my pocket, too. Let's shake !" 
 
 '95
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 Over the stove they gripped hands. 
 
 "My eyes hurt," said DeBar. "It's the snow 
 and wind, I guess. Do you mind a little sleep 
 after we eat ? I haven't slept a wink in three 
 days and nights." 
 
 "Sleep until you're ready," urged Philip. "I 
 don't want to fight bad eyes." 
 
 They ate, mostly in silence, and when the 
 meal was done Philip carefully cleaned his re 
 volver and oiled it with bear grease, which he 
 found in a bottle on the shelf. 
 
 DeBar watched him as he wiped his weapon 
 and saw that Philip lubricated each of the five 
 cartridges which he put in the chamber. 
 
 Afterward they smoked. 
 
 Then DeBar stretched himself out in one of 
 the two bunks, and his heavy breathing soon 
 gave evidence that he was sleeping. 
 
 For a time Philip sat beside the stove, his 
 
 eyes upon the inanimate form of the outlaw. 
 
 Drowsiness overcame him then, and he rolled 
 
 into the other bunk. He was awakened several 
 
 196
 
 THE FIGHT A STRANGE VISITOR 
 
 hours later by DeBar, who was filling the stove 
 with wood. 
 
 "How's the eyes?" he asked, sitting up. 
 
 "Good," said the other. "Glad you're awake. 
 The light will be bad inside of an hour." 
 
 He was rubbing and warming his hands, and 
 Philip came to the opposite side of the stove 
 and rubbed and warmed his hands. For some 
 reason he found it difficult to look at DeBar, 
 and he knew that DeBar was not looking at 
 him. 
 
 It was the outlaw who broke the suspense. 
 
 "I've been outside," he said in a low voice. 
 "There's an open in front of the cabin, just a 
 hundred paces across. It wouldn't be a bad 
 idea for us to stand at opposite sides of the 
 open and at a given signal approach, firing as 
 we want to." 
 
 "Couldn't be better," exclaimed Philip 
 briskly, turning to pull his revolver from its 
 holster. 
 
 DcBar watched him with tensely anxious 
 197
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 eyes as he broke the breech, looked at the shiri- 
 ing circle of cartridges, and closed it again. 
 
 Without a word he went to the door, opened 
 it, and with his pistol arm trailing at his side, 
 strode off to the right. For a moment Philip 
 stood looking after him, a queer lump in his 
 throat. He would have liked to shake hands, 
 and yet at the same time he was glad that De- 
 Bar had gone in this way. He turned to the 
 left and saw at a glance that the outlaw had 
 given him the best light. DeBar was facing 
 him when he reached his ground. 
 
 "Are you ready ?" he shouted. 
 
 "Ready!" cried Philip. 
 
 DeBar ran forward, shoulders hunched low, 
 his pistol arm half extended, and Philip ad 
 vanced to meet him. At seventy paces, with 
 out stopping in his half trot, the outlaw fired, 
 and his bullet passed in a hissing warning three 
 feet over Philip's head. The latter had planned 
 to hold his fire until he was sure of hitting the 
 outlaw in the arm or shoulder, but a second 
 
 IQ8
 
 THE FIGHT A STRANGE VISITORv 
 
 shot from him, which seemed to Philip almost 
 to nip him in the face, stopped him short, and 
 at fifty paces he returned the fire. 
 
 DeBar ducked low and Philip thought that 
 he was hit. 
 
 Then with a fierce yell he darted forward, 
 firing as he came. 
 
 Again, and still a third time Philip fired, and 
 as DeBar advanced, unhurt, after each shot, a 
 cry of amazement rose to his lips. At forty 
 paces he could nip a four-inch bull's-eye three 
 times out of five, and here he missed a man! 
 At thirty he held an unbeaten record and at 
 thirty, here in the broad open, he still missed 
 his man ! 
 
 He had felt the breath of DeBar's fourth 
 shot, and now with one cartridge each the men 
 advanced foot by foot, until DeBar stopped 
 and deliberately aimed at twenty paces. Their 
 pistols rang out in one report, and, standing, 
 unhurt, a feeling of horror swept over Philip 
 as he looked at the other. The outlaw's arms 
 199
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 fell to his side. His empty pistol dropped to 
 the snow, and for a moment he stood rigid, 
 with his face half turned to the gloomy sky, 
 while a low cry of grief burst from Philip's 
 lips. 
 
 In that momentary posture of DeBar he saw, 
 not the effect of a wound only, but the grim, 
 terrible rigidity of death. He dropped his own 
 weapon and ran forward, and in that instant 
 DeBar leaped to meet him with the fierceness 
 of a beast ! 
 
 It was a terrible bit of play on DeBar's part, 
 and for a moment took Philip off his guard. 
 He stepped aside, and, with the cleverness of a 
 trained boxer, he sent a straight cut to the out 
 law's face as he closed in. But the blow lacked 
 force, and he staggered back under the other's 
 weight, boiling with rage at the advantage 
 which DeBar had taken of him. 
 
 The outlaw's hands gripped at his throat and 
 his fingers sank into his neck like cords of steel. 
 With a choking gasp he clutched at DeBar's 
 200
 
 THE FIGHT A STRANGE VISITOR v 
 
 wrists, knowing that another minute a half- 
 minute of that death clutch would throttle him. 
 He saw the triumph in DeBar's eyes, and with 
 a last supreme effort drew back his arm and 
 sent a terrific short-arm punch into the other's 
 stomach. 
 
 The grip at his throat relaxed. A second, a 
 third, and a fourth blow, his arm traveling 
 swiftly in and out, like a piston-rod, and the 
 triumph in DeBar's eyes was replaced by a look 
 of agony. The fingers at his throat loosened 
 still more, and with a sudden movement Philip 
 freed himself and sprang back a step to gather 
 force for the final blow. 
 
 The move was fatal. Behind him his heel 
 caught in a snow-smothered log and he pitched 
 backward with DeBar on top of him. 
 
 Again the iron fingers burned at his throat. 
 But this time he made no resistance, and after 
 a moment the outlaw rose to his feet and stared 
 down into the white, still face half buried in 
 the snow. Then he gently lifted Philip's head 
 
 201
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 in his arms. There was a crimson blotch in the 
 snow and close to it the black edge of a hidden 
 rock. 
 
 As quickly as possible DeBar carried Philip 
 into the cabin and placed him on one of the 
 cots. Then he gathered certain articles of food 
 from Pierre's stock and put them in his pack. 
 He had carried the pack half way to the door 
 when he stopped, dropped his load gently to thfc 
 floor, and thrust a hand inside his coat pocket. 
 From it he drew forth a letter. It was a wom 
 an's letter and he read it now with bowed 
 head, a letter of infinite faith, and hope, and 
 love, and when once more he turned toward 
 Philip his face was filled with the flush of a 
 great happiness. 
 
 "Mebby you don't just understand, Phil," he 
 whispered, as if the other were listening to him. 
 "I'm going to leave this." 
 
 With the stub of a pencil he scribbled a few 
 words at the bottom of the crumpled letter. 
 
 He wrote in a crude, awkward hand : 
 202
 
 THE FIGHT A STRANGE VISITOR 
 
 You'd won if it hadn't been for the rock. 
 But I guess mebby that it was God who put the 
 rock there, Phil. While you was asleep I took 
 the bullets out of your cartridges and put in 
 damp paper, for I didn't want to see any harm 
 done with the guns. I didn't shoot to hit you, 
 and after all, I'm glad it was the rock that hurt 
 you instead of me. 
 
 He leaned over the cot to assure himself that 
 Philip's breath was coming steadier and 
 stronger, and then laid the letter on the young 
 man's breast. 
 
 Five minutes later he was plodding steadily 
 ahead of his big Mackenzie hound into the 
 peopleless barrens to the south and west. 
 
 And still later Philip opened his eyes and 
 saw what DeBar had left for him. He strug 
 gled into a sitting posture and read the few 
 lines which the outlaw had written. 
 
 "Here's to you, Mr. Felix MacGregor," he 
 chuckled feebly, balancing himself on the edge 
 of the bunk. "You're right. It'll take two 
 203
 
 PHILIP STELE 
 
 men to lay out Mr. William DeBar if you 
 ever get him at all !" 
 
 Three days later, still in the cabin, he raised 
 ^ hand to his bandaged head with an odd 
 grimace, half of pain, half of laughter. 
 
 "You're a good one, you are!" he said to 
 himself, limping back and forth across the 
 narrow space of the cabin. "You've got them 
 all beaten to a rag when it comes to playing the 
 chump, Phil Steele. Here you go up to Big 
 Chief MacGregor, throw out your chest, and 
 say to him, 'I can get that man,' and when the 
 big chief says you can't, you call him a four- 
 ply ignoramus in your mind, and get permission 
 to go after him anyway just because you're 
 in love. You follow your man up here four 
 hundred miles or so and what's the conse 
 quence? You lose all hope of finding her, and 
 your 'man' does just what the big chief said 
 he would do, and lays you out though it 
 wasn't your fault after all. Then you take 
 possession of another man's shack when he isn't 
 204.
 
 THE FIGHT A STRANGE VISITOR 
 
 at home, eat his grub, nurse a broken head, and 
 wonder why the devil you ever joined the 
 glorious Royal Mounted when you've got 
 money to burn. You're a wise one, you arCj 
 Phil Steele but you've learned something 
 new. You've learned there's never a man so 
 good but there's a better one somewhere even 
 if he is a man-killer like Mr. William DeBar." 
 
 He lighted his pipe and went to the door. 
 For the first time in days the sun was shining 
 in a cold blaze of fire over the southeastern 
 edge of the barrens, which swept away in a 
 limitless waste of snow-dune and rock and 
 stunted scrub among which occasional Indian 
 and half-breed trappers set their dead- falls and 
 poison baits for the northern fox. Sixty miles 
 to the west was Fort Smith. A hundred miles 
 to the south lay the Hudson's Bay Company's 
 post at Chippewayan ; a hundred and fifty miles 
 to the south and east was the post at Fond du 
 Lac, and to the north nothing. A thousand 
 miles or so up there one would have struck the 
 205
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 polar sea and the Eskimo, and it was with this 
 thought of the lifelessness and mystery of a 
 dead and empty world that Philip turned his 
 eyes from the sun into the gray desolation that 
 reached from Pierre Thoreau's door to the end 
 of the earth. Far off to the north he saw a 
 black speck moving in the chaos of white. It 
 might have been a fox coming over a snow- 
 dune a rifle-shot away, for distances are elusive 
 where the sky and the earth seem to meet in a 
 cold gray rim about one ; or it might have been 
 a musk-ox or a caribou at a greater distance, 
 but the longer he looked the more convinced he 
 became that it was none of these but a man. 
 It moved slowly, disappeared for a few minutes 
 in one of the dips of the plain, and came into 
 view again much nearer. This time he made 
 out a man, and behind, a sledge and dogs. 
 
 "It's Pierre," he shivered, closing the door 
 and coming back to the stove. "I wonder what 
 the deuce the breed will say when he finds a 
 stranger here and his grub half gone." 
 206
 
 THE FIGHT A STRANGE VISITOR 
 
 After a little he heard the shrill creaking of 
 a sledge on the crust outside and then a man's 
 voice. The sounds stopped close to the cabin 
 and were followed by a knock at the door. 
 
 "Come in!" cried Philip, and in the same 
 breath it flashed upon him that it could not be 
 the breed, and that it must be a mighty partic 
 ular and unusual personage to knock at all. 
 
 The door opened and a man came in. He 
 was a little man, and was bundled in a great 
 beaver overcoat and a huge beaver cap that 
 concealed all of his face but his eyes, the tip 
 of his nose, and the frozen end of a beard 
 which stuck out between the laps of his turned- 
 up collar like a horn. For all the world he 
 looked like a diminutive drum-major, and 
 Philip rose speechless, his pipe still in his 
 mouth, as his strange visitor closed the door 
 behind him and approached. 
 
 "Beg pardon," said the stranger in a smoth 
 ered voice, walking as though he were ice to 
 the marrow and afraid of breaking himself. 
 
 207
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "It's so beastly cold that I have taken the lib 
 erty of dropping in to get warm." 
 
 "It is cold beastly cold," replied Philip, em 
 phasizing the word. "It was down to sixty 
 last night. Take off your things." 
 
 "Devil of a country this," shivered the 
 man, unbuttoning his coat. "I'd rather roast 
 of the fever than freeze to death." Philip 
 limped forward to assist him, and the stranger 
 eyed him sharply for a moment. 
 
 "Limp not natural," he said quickly, his 
 voice freeing itself at last from the depths of 
 his coat collar. "Bandage a little red, eyes 
 feverish, lips too pale. Sick, or hurt ?" 
 
 Philip laughed as the little man hopped to 
 the stove and began rubbing his hands. 
 
 "Hurt," he said. "If you weren't four hun 
 dred miles from nowhere I'd say that you were 
 a doctor." 
 
 "So I am," said the other. "Edward Wal 
 lace Boffin, M. D., 900 North Wabash Avenue, 
 Chicago." 
 
 208
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 \ 
 
 FOR a full half minute after the other's 
 words Philip stared in astonishment 
 Then, with a joyful shout, he suddenly reached 
 out his hand across the stove. 
 
 "By thunder," he cried, "you're from home !" 
 
 "Home!" exclaimed the other. There was a 
 startled note in his voice. "You're you're a 
 Chicago man?" he asked, staring strangely at 
 Philip and gripping his hand at the same time. 
 
 "Ever hear of Steele Philip Egbert Steele? 
 I'm his son." 
 
 "Good Heavens!" drawled the doctor, gaz 
 ing still harder at him and pinching the ice 
 from his beard, "what are you doing up here ?" 
 
 "Prodigal son," grinned Philip. "Waiting 
 for the calf to get good and fat. What are you 
 doing?" 
 
 209
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "Making a fool of myself," replied the doc 
 tor, looking at the top of the stove and rubbing 
 his hands until his fingers snapped. 
 
 At the North Pole, if they had met there, 
 Philip would have known him for a profes 
 sional man. His heavy woolen suit was tailor 
 made. He wore a collar and a fashionable tie. 
 A lodge signet dangled at his watch chain. He 
 was clean-shaven and his blond Van Dyke 
 beard was immaculately trimmed. Everything 
 about him, from the top of his head to the bot 
 tom of his laced boots, shouted profession, even 
 in the Arctic snow. He might have gone far 
 ther and guessed that he was a physician a 
 surgeon, perhaps from his hands, and from 
 the supple manner in which he twisted his long 
 white fingers about one another over the stove. 
 He was a man of about forty, with a thin sen 
 sitive face, strong rather than handsome, and 
 remarkable eyes. They were not large, nor far 
 apart, but were like twin dynamos, reflecting 
 the life of the man within. They were the sort 
 
 210
 
 THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 of eyes which Philip had always associated 
 with great mental power. 
 
 The doctor had now finished rubbing his 
 hands, and, unbuttoning his under coat, he 
 drew a small silver cigarette case from his 
 waistcoat pocket. 
 
 "They're not poison," he smiled, opening it 
 and offering the cigarettes to Philip. "I have 
 them made especially for myself." A sound 
 outside the door made him pause with a lighted 
 match between his fingers. "How about dogs 
 and Indian ?" he asked. "May they come in?" 
 
 Philip began hobbling toward the door. 
 
 "So exciting to meet a man from home that 
 I forgot all about 'em," he exclaimed. 
 
 With three or four quick steps the doctor 
 overtook him and caught him by the arm. 
 
 "Just a moment," he said quickly. "How 
 far is Fort Smith from here?" 
 
 "About sixty miles." 
 
 "Do you suppose I could get there without 
 his assistance?" 
 
 211
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "If you're willing to bunk here for a few 
 days yes," said Philip. "I'm going on to 
 Fort Smith myself as soon as I am able to 
 walk." 
 
 An expression of deep relief came into the 
 doctor's eyes. 
 
 "That's just what I want, Steele," he ex 
 claimed, unfeignedly delighted at Philip's sug 
 gestion. "I'm not well, and I require a little 
 rest. Call him in." 
 
 No sooner had the Indian entered than to 
 Philip's astonishment the little doctor began 
 talking rapidly to him in Cree. The guide's 
 eyes lighted up intelligently, and at the end he 
 replied with a single word, nodded, and 
 grinned. Philip noticed that as he talked a 
 slight flush gathered in the doctor's smooth 
 cheeks, and that not only by his voice but by 
 the use of his hands as well he seemed anxious 
 to impress upon his listener the importance of 
 what he was saying. 
 
 "He'll start back for Chippewayan this after- 
 212
 
 THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 noon," he explained to Philip a moment later. 
 "The dogs and sledge are mine, and he says 
 that he can make it easily on snow-shoes." 
 Then he lighted his cigarette and added sug 
 gestively, "He can't understand English." 
 
 The Indian had caught a glimpse of Philip's 
 belt and holster, and now muttered a few low 
 words, as though he were grumbling at the 
 stove. The doctor poised his cigarette midway 
 to his lips and looked quickly across at Philip. 
 
 "Possibly you belong to the Northwest 
 Mounted Police," he suggested. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Heavens," drawled the doctor again, "and 
 you the son of a millionaire banker ! What you 
 doing it for?" 
 
 "Fun," answered Philip, half laughing. 
 "And I'm not getting it in sugar-coated pellet 
 form either, Doctor. I came up here to get a 
 taan, found him, and was gloriously walloped 
 for my trouble. I'm not particularly sorry, 
 either. Rather glad he got away." 
 213
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "Why?" asked the doctor. 
 
 In spite of their short acquaintance Philip 
 began to feel a sort of comradeship for the man 
 opposite him. 
 
 "Well," he said hesitatingly, "you see, he 
 was one of those criminals who are made crim 
 inals. Some one else was responsible a case 
 of one man suffering because of another man's 
 sins." 
 
 If the doctor had received the thrust of a pin 
 he could not have jumped from his chair with 
 more startling suddenness than he did at 
 Philip's words. 
 
 "That's it !" he cried excitedly, beginning to 
 pace back and forth across the cabin floor. 
 "It's more than a theory it's a truth that 
 people suffer more because of other people than 
 on account of themselves. We're born to it 
 and we keep it up, inflicting a thousand pricks 
 and a thousand sorrows to gain one selfish end 
 and it isn't once in a hundred times that the 
 boomerang comes home and strikes the right 
 214
 
 THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 one down. But when it does when it does, 
 sir" 
 
 As suddenly as he had begun, the doctor 
 stopped, and he laughed a little unnaturally. 
 "Bosh !" he exclaimed. "Let's see that head oi 
 yours, Steele. Speaking of pains and pricks 
 reminds me that, being a surgeon, I may be of 
 some assistance to you." 
 
 Philip knew that he had checked himself 
 with an effort, and as his new acquaintance be 
 gan to loosen the bandage he found himself 
 wondering what mysterious mission could have 
 sent a Chicago surgeon up to Fort Smith. The 
 doctor interrupted his thoughts. 
 
 "Queer place for a blow," he said briskly. 
 "Nothing serious slight abrasion trifle fe 
 verish. We'll set you to rights immediately." 
 He bustled to his greatcoat and from one of the 
 deep pockets drew forth a leather medicine 
 case. "Queer place, queer place," he chuckled, 
 returning with a vial in his hand. "Were you 
 running when it happened ?" 
 215
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 Philip laughed with him, and by the time the 
 doctor had finished he had given him an ac 
 count of his affair with DeBar. Not until 
 hours later, when the Cree had left on his re 
 turn trip and they sat smoking before a roaring 
 fire after supper, did it occur to him how confi 
 dential he had become. Seldom had Philip 
 met a man who impressed him as did the little 
 surgeon. He liked him immensely. He felt 
 that he had known him for years instead of 
 hours, and chatted freely of his adventures and 
 asked a thousand questions about home. He 
 found that the doctor was even better ac 
 quainted with his home city than himself, and 
 that he knew many people whom he knew, and 
 lived in a fashionable quarter. He was puzzled 
 even as they talked and laughed and smoked 
 their cigarettes and pipes. The doctor said 
 nothing about himself or his personal affairs, 
 and cleverly changed the conversation when 
 ever it threatened to drift in that direction. 
 
 It was late when Philip rose from his chair, 
 216
 
 THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 suggesting that they go to bed. He laughed 
 frankly across into the other's face. 
 
 "Boffin Boffin Boffin," he mused. 
 "Strange I've never heard of you down south, 
 Doctor. Now what the deuce can you be doing 
 up here?" 
 
 There was a point-blank challenge in his 
 eyes. The doctor leaned a little toward him, as 
 if about to speak, but caught himself. For 
 several moments his keen eyes gazed squarely 
 into Philip's, and when he broke the silence the 
 same nervous flush that Philip had noticed be 
 fore rose into his cheeks. 
 
 "I know your father," he said at last, in a 
 low, restrained voice. "I know him well, and 
 of course I read what the papers said when you 
 broke away from society to go roughing it 
 down in South America. I believe you're hon 
 est on the square." 
 
 Philip stared at him in amazement. 
 
 "If I didn't," he went on, rubbing his hands 
 again over the stove, "I'd follow your sugges- 
 217
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 tion, and go to bed. As it is, I'm going to tell 
 you why I'm up here, on your word of honor 
 to maintain secrecy. I've got a selfish end in 
 view, for you may be able to assist me. But 
 nothing must go beyond yourself. What do 
 you say to the condition ?" 
 
 "I will not break your confidence uniess 
 you have murdered some one," laughed Philip, 
 stooping to light a fresh pipe. "In that event 
 you'd better keep quiet, as I'd have to haul you 
 back to headquarters." 
 
 He did not see the deepening of the flush in 
 the other's face. 
 
 "Good," said the doctor. "Sit down, Steele. 
 I take it for granted that you will help me if 
 you can. First I suppose I ought to confess 
 that my name is not Boffin, but McGill Dud 
 ley McGill, professor of neurology and diseases 
 of the brain " 
 
 Philip almost dropped his pipe. "Great 
 Scott, and it was you who wrote " He 
 stopped, staring in amazement. 
 218
 
 THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 "Yes, it was I who wrote Freda, if that's 
 what you refer to," finished the doctor. "It 
 caused a little sensation, as you may know, and 
 nearly got me ousted from the college. But it 
 sold up to two hundred thousand copies, so it 
 wasn't a bad turn," he added. 
 
 "It was published while I was away," said 
 Philip. "I got a copy in Rio Janeiro, and it 
 haunted me for weeks after I read it. Great 
 Heaven, you can't believe " 
 
 "I did," interrupted the doctor sharply. "I 
 believed everything that I wrote and more. 
 It was my theory of life." He sprang from 
 his chair and began walking back and forth in 
 his quick, excited way. The flush had gone 
 from his face now and was replaced by a 
 strange paleness. His lips were tense, the fin 
 gers of his hands tightly clenched, his voice 
 was quick, sharp, incisive when he spoke. 
 
 "It was my theory of life," he repeated al 
 most fiercely, "and that is the beginning of why 
 I am up here. My theory was that there existed 
 219
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 no such thing as 'the divine spark of love' be 
 tween men and women not related by blood, no 
 reaching out of one soul for another no faith, 
 no purity, no union between man and woman 
 but that could be broken by low passions. My 
 theory was that man and woman were but ma 
 chines, and that passion, and not the love 
 which we dream and read of, united these 
 machines; and that every machine, whether it 
 was a man or a woman, could be broken and 
 destroyed in a moral sense by some other ma 
 chine of the opposite sex if conditions were 
 right. Do you understand me? My theory 
 was destructive of homes, of happiness, of 
 moral purity. It was bad. I argued my point 
 in medical journals, and I wrote a book based 
 on it. But I lacked proof, the actual proof of 
 experience. So I set out to experiment." 
 
 He seemed to have forgotten now that Philip 
 Aras in the room, and went on bitterly, as if 
 arraigning himself for something which he had 
 not yet disclosed. 
 
 220
 
 THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 "It made me a a almost a criminal," he 
 continued. "I had no good thoughts for hu 
 manity, beyond my small endeavors in my 
 little field of science. I was a machine myself, 
 cold, passionless, caring little for women thus 
 proving, if I had stopped to consider myself, 
 the unreasonableness of my own theory. Coolly 
 and without a thought of the consequences, I 
 set out to prove myself right. When I think of 
 it now my action appals me. It was heinous, 
 for the mere proving of my theory meant mis 
 ery and unhappiness for those who were to 
 prove it to me. I was not cramped for money. 
 So I determined to experiment with six ma 
 chines three young men and three young 
 women. I planned that each person should be 
 unconscious of the part he or she was playing, 
 and that each pair should be thrown constantly 
 together not in society, mind you, for my the 
 ory was that conditions must be right. 
 Through a trusted and highly paid agent I hired 
 my people the men. Through another, who 
 
 221
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 was a woman, I hired those of the opposite sex. 
 One of the young women was sent to an ob 
 scure little place a hundred miles back from the 
 Brazilian coast, ostensibly to act as governess 
 for the children of an American family which 
 did not exist. To this same place, through the 
 other agent, was sent a man, whose duty was to 
 get information about the country for a party 
 of capitalists. Do you begin to understand 
 now?" 
 
 "Yes, I begin to understand," said Philip. 
 
 "This place to which they went was made up 
 of a dozen or so hovels," continued the doctor, 
 resuming his nervous walk. "There was no 
 one there who could talk or understand their 
 language but these two. The consequence 
 conditions were right. They would be con 
 stantly together. They would either prove or 
 disprove my theory that men and women were 
 but machines of passion. I knew that they 
 would stay at this place during the three 
 months I had allotted for my experiment, for I 
 222
 
 THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 paid them a high price. The girl, when she 
 found no American family, was told to wait 
 until they arrived. The man, of course, had 
 plenty of supposed work to keep him there." 
 
 "I understand," repeated Philip. 
 
 "The second couple," continued the doctor, 
 forcing himself into a chair opposite Philip, 
 "were in a similar way sent up here to an ob 
 scure northern post which I have reason for not 
 naming. And the third couple went to a fever 
 ish district down in Central America." 
 
 He rose from his chair again, and Philip was 
 silent while the doctor went to his great-coat 
 and from somewhere within its depths brought 
 out fresh cigarettes. His hand trembled 
 slightly as he lighted one and the flare of the 
 match, playing for an instant on his face, em 
 phasized the nervous tension which he was 
 under. 
 
 "I suppose you think it all very strange and 
 idiotic," he said, after a few moments. "But 
 we frequently do strange things, and apparently 
 223
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 senseless ones, in scientific work. Madmen 
 have made the world's greatness. Our most 
 wonderful inventors, our greatest men of all 
 ages, have in a way been insane for they have 
 been abnormal, and what is that but a certain 
 form of insanity?" 
 
 He looked at Philip through his cigarette 
 smoke as if expecting a reply, but Philip only 
 wet his lips, and remained silent. 
 
 "I got six months' leave of absence," he re 
 sumed, "and set out to see the results of my 
 experiments. First I went to Rio, and from 
 there to the place where the first couple had 
 gone. As a consequence, five weeks passed be 
 tween the date of the last letters of my experi 
 menters and the day I joined them. Heavens, 
 man! When I made it known that I wanted 
 them, where do you think they took me?" He 
 dropped his half-burned cigarette and his voice 
 was husky as he turned on Philip. "Where 
 where do you think they took me?" he de 
 manded. 
 
 224
 
 THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 "God knows!" exclaimed Philip, tremu 
 lously. "Where?" 
 
 "To two freshly made graves just outside the 
 village," groaned the doctor. "I learned their 
 story after a little. The girl, finding herself 
 useless there, had begun to teach the little chil 
 dren. I'm I'm going to skip quickly over 
 this." His voice broke to a whisper. "She 
 was an angel. The poor half-naked women 
 told me that through my interpreter. The chil 
 dren cried for her when she died. The men 
 had brought flowering trees from miles away 
 to shade her grave and the other. They had 
 met, as I had planned the man and the girl, 
 but it didn't turn out my way. It was a beau 
 tiful love, I believe, as pure and sweet as any in 
 the whole world. They say that they made the 
 whole village happy, and that each Sunday the 
 girl and the man would sing to them beautiful 
 songs which they could not understand, but 
 which made even the sick smile with happiness. 
 tt was a low, villainous place for a village, half 
 225
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 encircled by a swampy river, and the terriblt 
 heat of the summer sun brought with it a 
 strange sickness. It was a deadly, fatal sick 
 ness, and many died, and always there were the 
 man and the girl, working and singing and 
 striving to do good through all the hours of 
 day and night. What need is there of saying 
 more?" the doctor cried, his voice choking him. 
 "What need to say more except that the man 
 went first, and that the girl died a week later, 
 and that they were buried side by side under 
 the mangum trees ? What need unless it is to 
 say that I am their murderer?" 
 
 "There have been many mistakes made in the 
 name of science," said Philip, clearing his 
 throat. "This was one. Your theory was 
 wrong." 
 
 "Yes, it was wrong," said the doctor, more 
 gently. "I saved myself by killing them. My 
 theory died with them, and as fast as I could 
 travel I hurried to that other place in Central 
 America." 
 
 226
 
 THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 A soft glow entered into his eyes now, and 
 he came around the stove and took one of 
 Philip's hands between his own, and looked 
 steadily down into his face, while there came a 
 curious twitching about the muscles of his 
 throat. 
 
 "Nothing had happened," he said, barely 
 above a whisper. "I found her, and I thank 
 God for that. I loved her, and my theory was 
 doubly shattered, a thousand times cursed. She 
 is my wife, and I am the happiest of men ex 
 cept for these haunting memories. Before I 
 married her I told her all, and together we have 
 tried to make restitution for my crime, for I 
 shall always deem it such. I found that the 
 man who died was supporting a mother, and 
 that the girl's parents lived on a little mort 
 gaged farm in Michigan. We sent the mother 
 ten thousand dollars, and the parents the same. 
 jWe have built a little church in the village 
 where they died. The third couple," finished 
 the doctor, dropping Philip's hand, "came up 
 227
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 here. When I got back from the south I found 
 that several of my checks had been returned. I 
 wrote letter after letter, but could find no trace 
 of these last of my experimenters. I sent an 
 agent into the North and he returned withouv 
 news of them. They had never appeared at 
 Fort Smith. And now I have come up to 
 hunt for them myself. Perhaps, in your future 
 wanderings, you may be of some assistance to 
 me. That is why I have told you this with 
 the hope that you will help me, if you can." 
 
 With a flash of his old, quick coolness the 
 doctor turned to one of Pierre Thoreau's bunks. 
 
 "Now," he said, with a strained laugh, "I'll 
 follow your suggestion and go to bed. Good 
 night." 
 
 228
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE GREAT LOVE EXPERIMENT 
 
 FOR an hour after he had gone to bed Philip 
 lay awake thinking of the doctor's story. 
 He dreamed of it when he fell asleep. In a way 
 for which he could not account, the story had a 
 peculiar effect upon him, and developed in him 
 a desire to know the end. He awoke in the 
 morning anxious to resume the subject with 
 McGill, but the doctor disappointed him. Dur 
 ing the whole of the day he made no direct ref 
 erence to his mission in the North, and when 
 Philip once or twice brought him back to the 
 matter he evaded any discussion of it, giving 
 him to understand, without saying so, that the 
 matter was a closed incident between them, 
 only to be reopened when he was able to give 
 some help in the search. The doctor talked 
 229
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 freely of his home, of the beauty and the good 
 ness of his wife, and of a third member whom 
 they expected in their little family circle in the 
 spring. They discussed home topics politics, 
 clubs and sport. The doctor disliked society, 
 though for professional reasons he was com 
 pelled to play a small part in it, and in this dis 
 like the two men found themselves on common 
 ground. They became more and more confi 
 dential in all ways but one. They passed hours 
 in playing cribbage with a worn pack of 
 Pierre's cards, and the third night sang old 
 college songs which both had nearly forgotten. 
 It was on this evening that they planned to re 
 main one more day in Pierre's cabin and then 
 leave for Fort Smith. 
 
 "You have hope there," said Philip in a 
 casual way, as they were undressing. 
 
 "Little hope, but the search will begin from 
 there," replied the doctor. "I have more hope 
 at Chippewayan, where we struck a clew. I 
 sent back my Indian to follow it up." 
 230
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 They went to bed. How long he had slept 
 Philip had no idea, when he was awakened by 
 a slight noise. In a sub-conscious sort of way, 
 with his eyes still closed, he lay without mov 
 ing and listened. The sound came again, like 
 the soft, cautious tread of feet near him. Still 
 without moving he opened his eyes. The oil 
 lamp which he had put out on retiring was burn 
 ing low. In its dim light stood the doctor, half 
 dressed, in a tense attitude of listening. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Philip. 
 
 The professor started, and turned toward the 
 stove. 
 
 "Nervousness, I guess," he said gloomily. 
 "I was afraid I would awaken you. I've been 
 up three times during the last hour listening 
 for a voice." 
 
 "A voice?" 
 
 "Yes, back there in the bunk I could have 
 sworn that I heard it calling somewhere out in 
 the night. But when I get up I can't hear it. 
 I've stood at the door until I'm frozen." 
 231
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "It's the wind," said Philip. "It has troubled 
 me many times out on the snow plains. I've 
 heard it wail like children crying among the 
 dunes, and again like women screaming, and 
 men shouting. You'd better go to bed." 
 
 "Listen!" 
 
 The doctor stiffened, his white face turned to 
 the door. 
 
 "Good Heavens, was that the wind?" he 
 asked after a moment. 
 
 Philip had rolled from his bunk and was 
 pulling on his clothes. 
 
 "Dress and we'll find out," he advised. 
 
 Together they went to the door, opened it, 
 and stepped outside. The sky was thick and 
 heavy, with only a white blurr where the moon 
 was smothered. Fifty yards away the gray 
 gloom became opaque. Over the thousand 
 miles of drift to the north there came a faint 
 whistling wind, rising at times in fitful sweeps 
 of flinty snow, and at intervals dying away 
 until it became only a lulling sound. In one of 
 232
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 these intervals both men held their breath. 
 From somewhere out of the night, and yet 
 from nowhere that they could point, there 
 came a human voice. 
 
 "Pier-r-r-r-e Thoreau Pier-r-r-r-e Thoreau 
 Ho, Pierre Thoreau-u-u-u !" 
 
 "Off there !" shivered the doctor. 
 
 "No out there !" said Philip. 
 
 He raised his own voice in an answering 
 shout, and in response there came again the cry 
 for Pierre Thoreau. 
 
 "I'm right!" cried the doctor. "Come!" 
 
 He darted away, his greatcoat making a dark 
 blur in the night ahead of Philip, who paused 
 again to shout through the megaphone of his 
 hands. There came no reply. A second and a 
 third time he shouted, and still there was no 
 response. 
 
 "Queer," he thought. "What the devil can 
 it mean?" 
 
 The doctor had disappeared, and he followed 
 in the direction he had gone. A hundred yards 
 233
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 more and he saw the dark blur again, close to 
 the ground. The doctor was bending over a 
 human form stretched out in the snow. 
 
 "Just in time," he said to Philip as he came 
 up. Excitement had gone from his voice now. 
 It was cool and professional, and he spoke in 
 a commanding way to his companion. "You're 
 heavier than I, so take him by the shoulders and 
 hold his head well up. I don't believe it's the 
 cold, for his body is warm and comfortable. I 
 feel something wet and thick on his shirt, and 
 it may be blood. So hold his head well up." 
 
 Between them they carried him back to the 
 cabin, and with the quick alertness of a man 
 accustomed to every emergency of his profes 
 sion the doctor stripped off his two coats while 
 Philip looked at the face of the man whom they 
 had placed in his bunk. His own experience 
 had acquainted him with violence and blood- 
 sned, but in spite of that fact he shuddered 
 slightly as he gazed on the unconscious form. 
 It was that of a young man of splendid 
 234
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 physique, with a closely shaven face, short 
 blond hair, and a magnificent pair of shoulders. 
 Beyond the fact that he knew the face wore no 
 beard he could scarce have told if it were white 
 or black. From chin to hair it was covered 
 with stiffened blood. 
 
 The doctor came to his side. 
 
 "Looks bad, doesn't he ?" he said '_uet rf ully. 
 "Thought it wasn't the cold. T Ieart beating too 
 fast, pulse too active. Ah- hot water if you 
 please, Philip !" 
 
 He loosened the man's coat c^d shirt, and a 
 few moments later, when Philip brought a 
 towel and a basin of water, he rose from his 
 examination. 
 
 "Just in time as I said before," he ex 
 claimed with satisfaction. "You'd never have 
 heard another 'Pierre Thoreau' out of him, 
 Philip," he went on, speaking the young man's 
 name as if he had been accustomed to doing it 
 for a long time. "Wound on the head skull 
 sound loss of blood from over-exertion. We'll 
 
 235
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 fcave him drinking coffee within an hour if 
 you'll make some." 
 
 The doctor rolled up his shirt sleeves and be 
 gan to wash away the blood. 
 
 "A good-looking chap," he said over his 
 shoulder. "Face clean cut, fine mouth, a 
 frontal bone that must have brain behind it, 
 square chin " He broke off to ask : "What 
 do you suppose happened to him?" 
 
 "Haven't got the slightest idea," said Philip, 
 putting the coffee pot on the stove. "A blow, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 Philip was turning up the wick of the lamp 
 when a sudden startled cry came from the bed 
 side. Something in it, low and suppressed, 
 made him turn so quickly that by a clumsy twist 
 of his fingers the lamp was extinguished. He 
 lighted it again and faced the doctor. McGill 
 was upon his knees, terribly pale. 
 
 "Good Heaven!" he gasped. "What's the 
 matter?" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing, Phil it was he! He let 
 236
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 it out of him so unexpectedly that it startled 
 me." 
 
 "I thought it was your voice," said Philip. 
 
 "No, no, it was his. See, he is returning to) 
 consciousness." 
 
 The wounded man's eyes opened slowly, and 
 closed again. He heaved a great sigh and 
 stretched out his arms as if about to awaken 
 from a deep slumber. The doctor sprang to his 
 feet. 
 
 "We must have ice, Phil finely chopped ice 
 from the creek down there. Will you take the 
 ax and those two pails and bring back both pails 
 full? No hurry, but we'll need it within an 
 hour." 
 
 Philip bundled himself in his coat and went 
 out with the ax and pails. 
 
 "Ice !" he muttered to himself. "Now what 
 can he want of ice?" 
 
 He dug down through three feet of snow 
 and chopped for half an hour. When he re 
 turned to the cabin the wounded man was 
 237
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 bolstered up in bed, and the doctor was pacing 
 back and forth across the room, evidently 
 worked to a high pitch of excitement. 
 
 "Murder robbery outrage! Right under 
 our noses, that's what it was !" he cried. "Pierre 
 Thoreau is dead killed by the scoundrels who 
 'eft this man for dead beside him! They set 
 upon them late yesterday afternoon as Pierre 
 and his partner were coming home, intending 
 to kill them for their outfit. The murderers, 
 who are a breed and a white trapper, have prob 
 ably gone to their shack half a dozen miles up 
 the creek. Now, Mr. Philip Steele, here's a 
 little work for you !" 
 
 MacGregor himself had never stirred Philip 
 Steele's blood as did the doctor's unexpected 
 words, but the two men watching him saw noth 
 ing unusual in their effect. He set down his ice 
 and coolly took off his coat, then advanced to 
 the side of the wounded man. 
 
 "I'm glad you're better," he said, looking 
 down into the other's strong, pale face. "It was 
 238
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 a pretty close shave. Guess you were a little 
 out of your head, weren't you?" 
 
 For an instant the man's eyes shifted past 
 Philip to where the doctor was standing 
 
 "Yes I must have been. He says I was 
 calling for Pierre, and Pierre was dead. I left 
 him ten miles back there in the snow." He 
 closed his eyes with a groan of pain and con 
 tinued, after a moment, "Pierre and I have been 
 trapping foxes. We were coming back with 
 supplies to last us until late spring when it 
 happened. The white man's name is Dobson, 
 and there's a breed with him. Their shack is 
 six or seven miles up the creek." 
 
 Philip saw the doctor examining a revolver 
 which he had taken from the pocket of his big 
 coat. He came over to the btmkside with it 
 in his hand. 
 
 "That's enough, Phil," he said softly. "He 
 must not talk any more for an hour or two or 
 we'll have him in a fever. Get on your coat 
 I'm going with you." 
 
 239
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "I'm going alone," said Phil shortly. "You 
 attend to your patient." He drank a cup of 
 coffee, ate a piece of toasted bannock, and with 
 the first gray breaking of dawn started up the 
 creek on a pair of Pierre's old snow-shoes. The 
 doctor followed him to the creek and watched 
 him until he was out of sight. 
 
 The wounded man was sitting on the edge 
 of the cot when McGill reentered the cabin. 
 His exertion had brought a flush of color back 
 into his face, which lighted up with a smile as 
 the other came through the door. 
 
 "It was a close shave, thanks to you," he 
 said, repeating Philip's words. 
 
 "Just so," replied the doctor. He had placed 
 a brace of short bulldog revolvers on the table 
 and offered one of them now to his companion. 
 ""The shaving isn't over yet, Falkner." 
 
 They ate breakfast, each with a gun beside 
 his tin plate. Now and then the doctor inter 
 rupted his meal to go to the door and peer over 
 the broadening vista of the barrens. They had 
 240
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 nearly finished when he came back from one of 
 these observations, his lips set a little tighter, a 
 barely perceptible tremor in his voice when he 
 spoke. 
 
 "They're coming, Falkner!" 
 
 They picked up their revolvers and the doc 
 tor buttoned his coat tight up about his neck. 
 For ten minutes they sat silent and listening. 
 Not until the crunching beat of snow-shoes 
 came to their ears did the doctor move. Thrust 
 ing his weapon into his coat pocket, he went 
 to the door. Falkner followed him, and stood 
 well out of sight when he opened it. Two men 
 and a dog team were crossing the opening. 
 McGill's dogs were fastened under a brush 
 lean-to built against the cabin, and as the rival 
 team of huskies began filling the air with their 
 clamor for a fight, the stranger team halted and 
 one of the two men came forward alone. He 
 stopped with some astonishment before the 
 aristocratic-looking little man waiting for him 
 in Pierre's doorway. 
 
 241
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "Is Pierre Thoreau at home ?" he demanded. 
 
 "I'm a stranger here, so I can not say," re 
 plied the doctor, inspecting the questioner with 
 marked coolness. "It is possible, however, that 
 he is for I picked up a man half dead out in 
 the snow last night, and I'm waiting for him to 
 come back to life. A smooth-faced, blond fel 
 low, with a cut on his head. It may be this 
 Pierre Thoreau." 
 
 The words were scarcely out of his mouth 
 when the man kicked off his snow-shoes and 
 with an excited wave of his arm to his com 
 panion with the dogs, almost ran past the doc 
 tor. 
 
 "It's him the man I want to see !" he cried 
 in a low voice. "My name's Dobson, of the " 
 
 What more he had meant to say was never 
 finished. Falkner's powerful arms had gripped 
 his head and throat in a vise-like clutch from 
 which no smother of sound escaped, and three 
 or four minutes later, when the second man 
 came through the door, he found his comrade 
 242
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 flat on his back, bound and gagged, and the 
 shining muzzles of two short and murderous- 
 looking revolvers leveled at his breast. He was 
 d swarthy breed, scarcely larger than the doc 
 tor himself, and his only remonstrance as his 
 hands were fastened behind his back was a 
 brief outburst of very bad and very excited 
 French which the professor stopped with a 
 threatening flourish of his gun. 
 
 "You'll do," he said, standing off to survey 
 his prisoner. "I believe you're harmless enough 
 to have the use of your legs and mouth." With 
 a comic bow the little doctor added, "M'sieur, 
 I'm going to ask you to drive us back to Fort 
 Smith, and if you so much as look the wrong 
 way out of your eyes I'll blow off your head. 
 You and your friend are to answer for the kill 
 ing of Pierre Thoreau and for the attempted 
 murder of this young man, who will follow us 
 to Fort Smith to testify against you." 
 
 It was evident that the half-breed did not 
 understand, and the doctor added a few explan- 
 
 243
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 atory words in French. The man on the floor 
 groaned and struggled until he was red in 
 the face. 
 
 "Easy, easy," soothed the doctor. "I appre 
 ciate the fact that it is pretty tough luck, Dob- 
 son, but you'll have to take your medicine. 
 Falkner, if you'll lend a hand in getting me off 
 I won't lose much time in starting for Fort 
 Smith." 
 
 It was a strange-looking outfit that set out 
 from Pierre Thoreau's cabin half an hour later. 
 Ahead of the team which had come that morn 
 ing walked the breed, his left arm bound to his 
 side with a babiche thong. On the sledge be- 
 hind him lay an inanimate and blanket- 
 wrapped bundle, which was Dobson ; and close 
 at the rear of the sledge, stripped of his great 
 coat and more than ever like a diminutive 
 drum-major, followed Dudley McGill, profes 
 sor of neurology and diseases of the brain, 
 with a bulldog revolver in his mittened hand. 
 
 From the door Falkner watched them go. 
 244
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 Six hours later Philip returned from the 
 east. Falkner saw him coming up from the 
 creek and went to meet him. 
 
 "I found the cabin, but no one was there," 
 3aid Philip. "It has been deserted for a long 
 time. No tracks in the snow, everything inside 
 frozen stiff, and what signs I did find were of 
 a woman !" 
 
 The muscles of Falkner's face gave a sudden 
 twitch. "A woman !" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, a woman," repeated Philip, "and there 
 was a photograph of her on a table in the bed 
 room. Did this Dobson have a wife?" 
 
 Falkner had fallen a step behind him as they 
 entered the cabin. 
 
 "A long time ago a woman was there," he 
 said. "She was a young woman, and and 
 almost beautiful. But she wasn't his wife." 
 
 "She was pretty," replied Philip, "so pretty 
 'hat I brought her picture along for my col 
 lection at home." He looked about for McGilL 
 "Where's/ he doctor?" 
 
 245
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 Falkner's face was very white as he ex 
 plained what had happened during the other's 
 absence. 
 
 "He said that he would camp early this after 
 noon so that you could overtake them," he fin 
 ished after he had described the capture and the 
 doctor's departure. "The doctor thought you 
 would want to lose no time in getting the pris 
 oners to Fort Smith, and that he could get a 
 good start before night. To-morrow or the 
 next day I am going to follow with the other 
 team. I'd go with you if he hadn't commanded 
 me to remain here and nurse my head for an 
 other twenty-four hours." 
 
 Philip shrugged his shoulders, and the two 
 had little to say as they ate their dinners. 
 After an hour's rest he prepared a light pack 
 and took up the doctor's trail. Inwardly he 
 rankled at the unusual hand which the little 
 professor was playing in leaving Pierre's cabin 
 with the prisoners, and yet he was confident 
 *hat McGill would wait for him. Mile after 
 246
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 mile he traveled down the creek. At dusk there 
 was no sign of his new friend. Just before 
 dark he climbed a dead stub at the summit of 
 a high ridge and half a dozen miles of the un 
 broken barren stretched out before his eyes. 
 At six o'clock he stopped to cook some tea and 
 warm his meat and bannock. After that he 
 traveled until ten, then built a big fire and gave 
 up the pursuit until morning. At dawn he 
 started again, and not until the forenoon was 
 half gone did he find where the doctor had 
 stopped to camp. 
 
 The ashes of his fire were still warm beneath 
 and the snow was trampled hard around them. 
 In the north the clouds were piling up, betoken 
 ing a storm such as it was not well for a man 
 in Philip's condition of fatigue to face. Al 
 ready some flavor of the approaching blizzard 
 was carried to him on the wind. 
 
 So he hurried on. Fortunately the storm 
 died away after an hour or two of fierce wind. 
 Still he did not come up with McGill, and he 
 247
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 camped again for the night, cursing the little 
 professor who was racing on ahead of him. 
 
 It was noon of the following day when he 
 came in sight of the few log cabins at Fort 
 Smith, situated in a treeless and snow-smoth 
 ered sweep of the plain on the other side of 
 the Slave. He crossed the river and hurried 
 past the row of buildings that led to post head 
 quarters. In front of the company office were 
 gathered a little crowd of men, women and 
 children. He pushed his way through and 
 stopped at the bottom of the three log steps 
 which led up to the door. 
 
 At the top was Professor McGill, coming out. 
 His face was a puzzle. His eyes had in them 
 a stony stare as he gazed down at Philip. Then 
 he descended slowly, like one moving in a 
 dream. 
 
 "Good Heavens," he said huskily, and only 
 for Philip's ear*;, "do you know what I've 
 Phil?" 
 
 "What?" demanded Philip. 
 248
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 The doctor came down to the last step. 
 
 "Phil," he whispered, "that fellow we found 
 with a broken head played a nice game on me. 
 He was a criminal, and I've brought back to 
 Fort Smith no less person than the man sent 
 out to arrest him, Corporal Dobson, of the 
 Mounted Police, and his driver, Francois 
 Something-or-Other. Heavens, ain't it funny?" 
 
 That same afternoon Corporal Dobson and 
 the half-breed set out again in quest of Falk- 
 ner, and this time they were accompanied by 
 Pierre Thoreau, who learned for the first time 
 what had happened in his cabin. The doctor 
 disappeared for the rest of the day, but early 
 the next morning he hunted Phil up and took 
 him to a cabin half a mile down the river. A 
 team of powerful dogs, an unusually large 
 sledge, and two Indians were at the door. 
 
 "I bought 'em last night," explained the doc 
 tor, "and we're going to leave for the south 
 to-day." 
 
 249
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "Giving up your hunt ?" asked Philip. 
 
 "No, it's ended," replied McGill in a matter- 
 of-fact way. "It ended at Pierre Thoreau's 
 :abin. Falkner was the third man to work out 
 my experiment." 
 
 Philip stopped in his tracks, and the doctor 
 stopped, and turned toward him. 
 
 "But the third" Philip began. 
 
 The little doctor continued to smile. 
 
 "There are more things in Heaven and earth, 
 Philip," he quoted, "than are dreamed of in 
 your philosophy. This love experiment has 
 turned out wrongly, as far as preconceived 
 theories are concerned, but when I think of the 
 broader, deeper significance of it all I am 
 pleased is not the word." 
 
 "What I can't see " Philip was stopped 
 by the doctor's lifted hand. 
 
 "You see, I am relying on your word of 
 
 honor, Phil," he explained, laughing softly at 
 
 the amazement which he saw in the other's 
 
 face. "It's all so wonderful that I want you 
 
 250
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 to know the end of it, and how happily it has 
 turned out for me and the little woman wait 
 ing for me back home. It was I and not Falk- 
 ner who cried out just before you turned the 
 lamp-wick down. A letter had fallen from his 
 coat pocket, and it was one of my letters sent 
 through my agent. Understand? I sent you 
 for the ice, and while you were gone I told him 
 who I was, and he told me why I had never 
 heard from him, and why he was in Pierre 
 Thoreau's cabin. My agent had sent him north 
 with five hundred dollars as a first payment. 
 To cut a long story short, he got into a card 
 game in Prince Albert as the best of us do 
 at times and as a result become mixed up in 
 a quarrel, in which he pretty nearly killed a 
 man. They've been after him ever since, and 
 almost had him when we found him, injured by 
 a blow which he received in an ugly fall earlier 
 in the night. It's the last and total wrecking 
 of my theory." 
 
 "But the girl" urged Philip.) 
 
 251
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "We're going to see her now, and she will 
 tell you the whole story as she told it to me," 
 said the doctor, as calmly as before. "Ah, but 
 it's wonderful, man this great, big, human 
 love that fills the world ! They two met at Nel 
 son House, as I had planned they should, and 
 four months after that they smashed my theory 
 by being married by a missionary from York 
 Factory. I mean that they smashed the bad 
 part of it, Phil, but all three couples proved the 
 other that there exist no such things as 'soul 
 affinities,' and that two normal people of oppo 
 site sexes, if thrown together under certain 
 environment, will as naturally mate as two 
 birds, and will fight and die for one an 
 other afterward, too. There may not be one 
 in ten thousand who believes it, but I do 
 still. At the last moment the man in Falkner 
 triumphed over his love and he told her what 
 he was, that up until the moment he met her he 
 drank and gambled, and that for his shooting 
 a man in Prince Albert he would sooner or 
 252
 
 WHAT CAME OF THE EXPERIMENT 
 
 later get a term in prison. And she? I tell 
 you that she busted my theory to a frazzle! 
 She loved him, as I now believe every woman in 
 the world is capable of loving, and she married 
 him, and stuck to him through thick and thin, 
 fled with him when he was compelled to run 
 and her faith in him now is like that of a child 
 in its God. For a time they lived in that cabin 
 above Pierre Thoreau's, and perhaps they 
 wouldn't have been found out if they hadn't 
 come up to Fort Smith for a holiday. Falkner 
 told me that his pursuers would surely stop at 
 Pierre's, and so we fixed up that little scheme 
 to get rid of you so that you would in no way 
 be to blame for what happened. He told me 
 where I'd find his wife. By this time he has a 
 good start for the States, and will be there by 
 the time I get his wife down." 
 
 Philip had not spoken a word. Almost me 
 chanically he pulled the photograph from his 
 pocket. 
 
 "And this " he said. 
 
 25?
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 The doctor laughed as he took the picture 
 from his hand. 
 
 "Is Mrs. William Falkner, Phil. Come in. 
 Cm anxious to have you meet her." 
 
 254
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 PHILIP'S LAST ASSIGNMENT 
 
 PHILIP, instead of following the doctor, 
 laid a detaining hand upon his arm. 
 
 "Wait!" he said. 
 
 Something in the seriousness of his manner 
 drew a quick look of apprehension over the 
 other's face. 
 
 "I want to talk with you," continued Philip. 
 "Let us walk a little way down the trail." 
 
 The doctor eyed him suspiciously as they 
 turned away from the cabin. 
 
 "See here, Phil Steele," he said, and there 
 was a hard ring in his voice, "I've had all sorts 
 of confidence in you, and I've told you more, 
 perhaps, than I ought. I don't suppose you 
 have a suspicion that you ought to break it ?" 
 
 "No, it isn't that," replied Philip, laughing 
 255
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 a little uneasily. "I'm glad you got away with 
 Falkner, and so far as I am concerned no one 
 will ever know what has happened. It's I who 
 want to place a little confidence in you now. I 
 am positively at my wits' end, and all over a 
 situation which seems to place you and me in a 
 class by ourselves sort of brothers in trouble, 
 you know," and he told McGill, briefly, of Iso- 
 bel, and his search for her. 
 
 "I lost them between Lac Bain and Fort 
 Churchill," he finished. "The two sledges sep 
 arated, one continuing to Churchill, and the 
 other turning into the South. I followed the 
 Churchill sledge and was wrong. When I 
 came back the snow had covered the other 
 trail." 
 
 The little professor stopped suddenly and 
 squared himself directly in Philip's path. 
 
 "You don't say!" he gasped. There was a 
 look of amazement on his face. 
 
 "What a wonderfully little world this is, 
 Phil," he added, smiling in a curious way. 
 256
 
 PHILIP'S LAST ASSIGNMENT 
 
 "What a wonderfully, wonderfully little world 
 it is ! It's only a playground, after all, and the 
 funny part of it is that it is not even large 
 enough to play a game of hide-and-seek in, 
 successfully. I've proved that beyond question. 
 And here you " 
 
 "What?" demanded Philip, puzzled by the 
 other's attitude. 
 
 "Well, you see, I went first to Nelson 
 House," said McGill, "and from there up to the 
 Hudson's Bay Company's post in the Cochrane 
 River, hunting for Falkner and this girl a 
 man and a woman. And at the Cochrane Post 
 a Frenchman told me that there was a strange 
 man and woman up at Lac Bain, and I set off 
 for there. That must have been just about the 
 time you were starting for Churchill, for on 
 the third day up I met a sledge that turned me 
 off the Lac Bain trail to take up the nearer trail 
 to Chippewayan. With this sledge were the 
 two who had been at Lac Bain, Colonel Becker 
 and his daughter." 
 
 257
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 For a moment Philip could not speak. He 
 caught the other's hand excitedly. 
 
 "You you found where they were going?" 
 he asked, when McGill did not continue. 
 
 "Yes. We ate dinner together, and the colo 
 nel said they were bound for Nelson House, 
 and that they would probably go from there 
 to Winnipeg. I didn't ask which way they 
 would go." 
 
 "From Nelson House it would be by the 
 Saskatchewan and Le Pas trail," cried Philip. 
 He was looking straight over the little doctor's 
 head. "If it wasn't for this damnable DeBar 
 whom I ought to go after again " 
 
 "Drop DeBar," interrupted McGill quietly. 
 "He's got too big a start of you anyway 
 so what's the use? Drop 'im. I dropped a 
 whole lot of things when I came up here." 
 
 "But the law" 
 
 "Damn the law !" exploded the doctor with 
 unexpected vehemence. "Sometimes I think 
 the world would be just as happy without it" 
 2*8
 
 PHILIP'S LAST ASSIGNMENT 
 
 Their eyes met, sharp and understanding. 
 
 "You're a professor in a college," chuckled 
 Philip, his voice trembling again with hope and 
 eagerness. "You ought to know more than 
 I do. What would you do if you were in my 
 place?" 
 
 "I'd hustle for a pair of wings and fly," re 
 plied the little professor promptly. "Good 
 Lord, Phil if it was my wife and I hadn't 
 got her yet I wouldn't let up until I'd chased 
 her from one end of the earth to the other. 
 What's a little matter of duty compared to that 
 girl hustling toward Winnipeg? Next to my 
 own little girl at home she's the prettiest thing 
 I ever laid my eyes on." 
 
 Philip laughed aloud. 
 
 "Thanks, McGill. By Heaven, I'll go ! When 
 do you start?" 
 
 "The dogs are ready, and so is Mrs. William 
 Falkner." 
 
 Philip turned about quickly. 
 
 "I'll go over and say good-by to the detach- 
 
 259
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 ment, and get my pack," he said over his shoul 
 der. "I'll be back inside of half an hour." 
 
 It was a slow trip down. The snow was be 
 ginning to soften in the warmth of the first 
 spring suns by the time they arrived at Lac 
 la Crosse. Two days before they reached the 
 post at Montreal Lake, Philip began to feel the 
 first discomfort of a strange sickness, of which 
 he said nothing. But the sharp eyes of the doc 
 tor detected that something was wrong, and 
 before they came to Montreal House he rec 
 ognized the fever that had begun to burn in 
 Philip's body. 
 
 "You've set too fast a pace," he told him 
 "It's that and the blow you got when DeBar 
 threw you against the rock. You'll have to lay 
 up fora spell." 
 
 In spite of his protestations, the doctor com 
 pelled him to go to bed when they arrived at 
 the post. He grew rapidly worse, and for five 
 weeks the doctor and Falkner's wife nursed 
 260
 
 PHILIP'S LAST ASSIGNMENT 
 
 him through the fever. When they left for the 
 South, late in May, he was still too weak to 
 travel, and it was a month later before he pre* 
 sented himself, pale and haggard, before In 
 spector MacGregor at Prince Albert. Again 
 disappointment was awaiting him. There had 
 been delay in purchasing his discharge, and he 
 found that he would have to wait until August. 
 MacGregor gave him a three weeks' furlough, 
 and his first move was to go up to Etomami and 
 Le Pas. Colonel Becker and Isobel had been 
 at those places six weeks before. He could find 
 no trace of their having stopped at Prince Al 
 bert. He ran down to Winnipeg and spent sev 
 eral days in making inquiries which proved the 
 hopelessness of any longer expecting to find 
 Isobel in Canada. He assured himself that by 
 this time they were probably in London and he 
 made his plans accordingly. His discharge 
 would come to him by the tenth of August, and 
 he would immediately set off for England. 
 Upon his return to Prince Albert he was de- 
 261
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 tailed to a big prairie stretch of country where 
 there was little to do but wait. On the first day 
 .? August he was at Hymers when the Limited 
 plunged down the embankment into Blind In- 
 dian River. The first word of it came over the 
 wire from Bleak House Station a little before 
 midnight, while he and the agent were playing 
 cribbage. Pink-cheeked little Gunn, agent, oper 
 ator, and one-third of the total population of 
 Hymers, had lifted a peg to make a count when 
 his hand stopped in mid-air, and with a gasp 
 ing break in his voice he sprang to his feet. 
 
 The instrument on the little table near the 
 window was clicking frantically. It was Bill- 
 inger, at Bleak House, crying out for head 
 quarters, clear lines, the right of way. The 
 Transcontinental engine, tender, baggage car, 
 two coaches and a sleeper, had gone to the 
 devil. Those, in his excitement, where his first 
 words. From fifty to a hundred were dead. 
 Gunn almost swore Billinger's next words to 
 the line. It was not an accident ! Human hands 
 262
 
 PHILIP'S LAST ASSIGNMENT 
 
 had torn up three sections of rail. The same 
 human hands had rolled a two-ton boulder in 
 the right of way. He did not know whether the 
 express car or what little remained of it- 
 had been robbed or not. 
 
 From midnight until two o'clock the lines 
 were hot. A wrecking train was on its way 
 from the east, another from division head 
 quarters to the west. Ceaselessly headquarters 
 demanded new information, and bit by bit the 
 terrible tragedy was told even as the men and 
 women in it died and the few souls from the 
 prairies around Bleak House Station fought to 
 save lives. Then a new word crept in on the 
 wires. It called for Philip Steele at Hymers. 
 It commanded him in the name of Inspector 
 MacGregor of the Royal Mounted to reach 
 Bleak House Station without delay. What he 
 was to do when he arrived at the scene of the 
 wreck was left to his own judgment. 
 
 The wire from MacGregor aroused Philip 
 from the stupor of horror into which he had 
 263
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 fallen. Gunn's girlish face was as white as a 
 sheet. 
 
 "I've got a jigger," he said, "and you can 
 take it. It's forty miles to Bleak House and 
 you can make it in three hours. There won't 
 be a train for six." 
 
 Philip scribbled a few words for MacGregor 
 and shoved them into Gunn's nervous hand. 
 While the operator was sending them off he 
 rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and buckled on 
 his revolver belt. Then Gunn hurried him 
 through the door and they lifted the velocipede 
 on the track. 
 
 "Wire Billinger I'm coming," called back 
 Philip as Gunn started him off with a running 
 shove. 
 
 264
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A LOCK OF GOLDEN HAIR 
 
 A 5 the sun was rising in a burning August 
 glare over the edge of the parched 
 prairie, Philip saw ahead of him the unpainted 
 board shanty that was called Bleak House Sta 
 tion, and a few moments later he saw a man 
 run out into the middle of the track and stare 
 down at him from under the shade of his 
 hands. It was Billinger, his English-red face 
 as white as he had left Gunn's, his shirt in rags, 
 arms bare, and his tremendous blond mus- 
 taches crisped and seared by fire. Close to the 
 station, fastened to posts, were two saddle- 
 horses. A mile beyond these things a thin film 
 of smoke clouded the sky. 
 
 As the jigger stopped Philip jumped from 
 his seat and held out a blistered hand. 'Tip 
 265
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 Steele Philip Steele, of the Northwest 
 Mounted." 
 
 "And I'm Billinger agent," said the other. 
 Philip noticed that the hand that gripped his 
 own was raw and bleeding. "I got your word, 
 and I've received instructions from the depart 
 ment to place myself at your service. My wife 
 is at the key. I've found the trail, and I've 
 got two horses. But there isn't another man 
 who'll leave up there for love o' God or money. 
 It's horrible ! Two hours ago you'd 'ave heard 
 their screams from where you're standing the 
 hurt, I mean. They won't leave the wreck 
 not a man, and I don't blame 'em." 
 
 A pretty, brown-haired young woman had 
 come to the door and Billinger ran to her. 
 "Good-by," he cried, taking her for a moment 
 in his big arms. "Take care of the key !" He 
 turned as quickly to the horses, talking as they 
 mounted. "It was robbery," he said and they 
 set off at a canter, side by side. "There was 
 two hundred thousand in currency in the ex- 
 266
 
 A LOCK OF GOLDEN HAIR 
 
 press car, and it's gone. I found their trail this 
 morning, going into the North. They're hitting 
 for what we call the Bad Lands over beyond 
 the Coyote, twenty miles from here. I don't 
 suppose there's any time to lose " 
 
 "No," said Philip. "How many are there T' 
 
 "Four mebby more." 
 
 Billinger started his horse into a gallop and 
 Philip purposely held his mount behind to look 
 at the other man. The first law of MacGreg- 
 or's teaching was to study men, and to suspect. 
 It was the first law of the splendid service of 
 which he was a part and so he looked hard at 
 Billinger. The Englishman was hatless. His 
 sandy hair was cropped short, and his mus 
 taches floated out like flexible horns from the 
 sides of his face. His shirt was in tatters. In 
 one place it was ripped clean of the shouldei 
 and Philip saw a purplish bruise where the 
 flesh was bare. He knew these for the marks 
 of Billinger's presence at the wreck. Now the 
 man was equipped for other business. A huge 
 267
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "forty-four" hung at his waist, a short carbine 
 swung at his saddle-bow ; and there was some 
 thing in the manner of his riding, in the hunch 
 of his shoulders, and in the vicious sweep of 
 his long mustaches, that satisfied Philip he was 
 a man who could use them. He rode up along 
 side of him with a new confidence. They were 
 coming to the top of a knoll; at the summit 
 Billinger stopped and pointed down into a hol 
 low a quarter of a mile away. 
 
 "It will be a loss of time to go down there," 
 he said, "and it will do no good. See that thing 
 that looks like a big log in the river? That's 
 the top of the day coach. It went in right side 
 up, and the conductor who wasn't hurt says 
 there were twenty people in it. We watched it 
 settle from the shore, and we coaldn't do a 
 thing while they were dying in there like so 
 many caged rats ! The other coach burned, and 
 that heap of stuff you see there is what's left of 
 the Pullman and the baggage car. There's 
 twenty-seven dead stretched out along the 
 268
 
 A LOCK OF GOLDEN HAIR 
 
 track, and a good many hurt. Great Heavens, 
 listen to that !" 
 
 He shuddered, and Philip shuddered, at the 
 wailing sound of grief and pain that came up 
 to them. 
 
 "It'll be a loss of time to go down," re 
 peated the agent. 
 
 "Yes, it would be a loss of time," agreed 
 Philip. 
 
 His blood was burning at fever heat when he 
 raised his eyes from the scene below to Billin- 
 ger's face. Every righting fiber in his body was 
 tingling for action, and at the responsive glare 
 which he met in Billinger's eyes he thrust his 
 hand half over the space that separated them. 
 
 "We'll get 'em, Billinger," he cried. "By 
 God, we'll get 'em!" 
 
 There was something ferocious in the crush 
 of the other's hand. The Englishman's teeth 
 gleamed for an instant between his seared mus 1 
 taches as he heeled his mount into a canter 
 along the back of the ridge. Five minutes later 
 269
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 the knoll dipped again into the plain and at the 
 foot of it Billinger stopped his horse for a sec 
 ond and pointed to fresh hoof-marks in the 
 prairie sod. Philip jumped from his horse and 
 examined the ground. 
 
 "There are five in the gang, Billinger," he 
 said shortly. "All of them were galloping 
 but one." He looked up to catch Billinger lean 
 ing over the pommel of his saddle staring at 
 something almost directly under his horse's 
 feet. 
 
 "What's that?" he demanded. -*A hand 
 kerchief?" 
 
 Philip picked it up a dainty bit of fine linen, 
 crumpled and sodden by dew, and held it out 
 between the forefinger and thumb of both 
 hands. 
 
 "Yes, and a woman's handkerchief. Now 
 *rhat the devil " 
 
 He stopped at the look in Billinger's face as 
 he reached down for the handkerchief. The 
 square jaws of the man were set like steel 
 270
 
 A LOCK OF GOLDEN HAIR 
 
 springs, but Philip noticed that his hand wa? 
 trembling. 
 
 "A woman in the gang," he laughed as 
 Philip mounted. 
 
 They started out at a canter, Billinger still 
 holding the bit of linen close under his eyes. 
 After a little he passed it back to Philip who 
 was riding close beside him. 
 
 "Something happened last night," he said, 
 looking straight ahead of him, "that I can't 
 understand. I didn't tell my wife. I haven't 
 told any one. But I guess you ought to know. 
 It's interesting, anyway and has made a 
 wreck of my nerves." He wiped his face with 
 a blackened rag which he drew from his hip 
 pocket. "We were working hard to get out the 
 living, leaving the dead where they were for a 
 time, and I had crawled under the wreck of the 
 sleeper. I was sure that I had heard a cry, and 
 jrawled in among the debris, shoving a lantern 
 ahead of me. About where Berth Number Ten 
 should have been, the timbers had telescoped 
 271
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 upward, leaving an open space four or five feet 
 high. I was on my hands and knees, bare 
 headed, and my lantern lighted up things a? 
 plain as day. At first I saw nothing, and war 
 listening again for the cry when I felt some 
 thing soft and light sweeping down over me, 
 and I looked up. Heavens " 
 
 Billinger was mopping his face again, leaving 
 streaks of char-black where the perspiration 
 had started. 
 
 "Pinned up there in the mass of twisted steel 
 and broken wood was a woman," he went on. 
 "She was the most beautiful thing I have ever 
 looked upon. Her arms were reaching down to 
 me ; her face was turned a little to one side, but 
 still looking at me and all but her face and 
 part of her arms was smothered in a mass of 
 red-gold hair that fell down to my shoulders. I 
 could have sworn that she was alive. Her lip? 
 were red, and I thought for a moment that she. 
 was going to speak to me. I could have sworn, 
 too, that there was color in her face, but it must 
 272
 
 A LOCK OF GOLDEN HAIR 
 
 have been something in the lantern light and 
 the red-gold of her hair, for when I spoke, and 
 then reached up, she was cold." 
 
 Billinger shivered and urged his horse into a 
 faster gait. 
 
 "I went out and helped with the injured then. 
 I guess it must have been two hours later when 
 I returned to take out her body. But the place 
 where I had seen her was empty. She was 
 gone. At first I thought that some of the 
 others had carried her out, and I looked among 
 the dead and injured. She was not among 
 them. I searched again when day came, with 
 the same result. No one has seen her. She has 
 completely disappeared and with the excep 
 tion of my shanty there isn't a house within ten 
 miles of here where she could have been taken. 
 What do you make of it, Steele?" 
 
 Philip had listened with tense interest. 
 
 "Perhaps you didn't return to the right 
 place," he suggested. "Her body may still be 
 in the wreck." 
 
 273
 
 Billinger glanced toward him with a nervous 
 laugh. 
 
 "But it was the right place," he said. "Shf 
 had evidently not gone to bed, and was dressed 
 When I returned I found a part of her skirt 
 in the debris above. A heavy tress of her hair 
 had caught around a steel ribbing, and it was 
 cut off! Some one had been there during my 
 absence and had taken the body. I I'm al 
 most ready to believe that I was mistaken, and 
 that she was alive. I found nothing there, noth 
 ing that could prove her death. 
 
 "Is it possible " began Philip, holding out 
 the handkerchief. 
 
 It was not necessary for him to finish. Bill 
 inger understood, and nodded his head. 
 
 "That's what I'm thinking," he said. "Is 
 it possible? What in God's name would they 
 want of her, unless " 
 
 "Unless she was alive," added Philip. "Un 
 less one or more of the scoundrels searching foi 
 valuables in there during the excitement, saw 
 
 271
 
 A LOCK OF GOLDEN HAIR 
 
 her and carried her off with their other booty. 
 It's up to us, Billinger!" 
 
 Billinger had reached inside his shirt, and 
 now he drew forth a small paper parcel. 
 
 "I don't know why but I kept the tress of 
 hair," he said. "See" 
 
 From between his fingers, as he turned to 
 ward Philip, there streamed out a long silken 
 tress that shone a marvelous gold in the sun, 
 and in that same instant there fell from Philip's 
 lips a cry such as Billinger had not heard, even 
 from the lips of the wounded; and before he 
 could recover from his astonishment, he had 
 leaned over and snatched the golden tress from 
 him, and sat in his saddle staring at it like a 
 madman. 
 
 275
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE GIRL IN THE WRECK 
 
 IN that moment of terrible shock in the one 
 moment when it seemed to him as though 
 no other woman in the world could have worn 
 that golden tress of hair but Isobel, Philip had 
 stopped his horse, and his face had gone as 
 white as death. With a tremendous effort he 
 recovered himself, and saw Billinger staring at 
 him as though the hot sun had for an instant 
 blinded him of reason. But the lock of hair 
 still rippled and shone before his eyes. Only 
 twice in his life could he remember having seen 
 hair just like this that peculiar reddish gold 
 that changed its lights with every passing cloud 
 He had seen it on Isobel, in the firelight of the 
 camp, at Lac Bain and he had seen it crown 
 ing the beautiful head of the girl back home, 
 276
 
 THE GIRL IN THE WRECK 
 
 the girl of the hyacinth letter. He struggled to 
 calm himself under the questioning gaze of 
 Billinger's eyes. He laughed, wound the hair 
 carefully about his fingers, and put it in his coat 
 pocket. 
 
 "You you have given me a shock," he said, 
 straining to keep his voice even. "I'm glad you 
 had foresight enough to keep the lock of hair, 
 Billinger. At first I jumped to a conclusion. 
 But there's only one chance in a hundred that 
 I'm right. If I should be right I know the 
 girl. Do you understand why it startled me ? 
 Now for the chase, Billinger. Lead away!" 
 
 Leaning low over their saddles they galloped 
 into the North. For a time the trail of the five 
 outlaws was so distinct that they rode at a 
 speed which lathered their horses. Then the 
 short prairie grass, crisp and sun-dried, gave 
 place to a broad sweep of wire grass above 
 vhich the yellow backs of coyotes were visible 
 as now and then they bobbed up in their quick, 
 short leaps to look over the top of it. In this 
 277
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 brown sea all trace of the trail was lost from 
 the saddle and both men dismounted. Foot by 
 foot they followed the faint signs ahead of 
 them, while over their backs the sun rose higher 
 and began to burn with the dry furnace-like 
 heat that had scorched the prairies. So slow 
 was their progress that after a time Billinger 
 straightened himself with a nervous curse. The 
 perspiration was running in dirty streaks down 
 his face. Before he had spoken Philip read the 
 fear that was in his eyes and tried to hide the 
 reflection of it in his own. It was too hot to 
 smoke, but he drew forth a case of cigarettes 
 and offered one to Billinger. The agent ac 
 cepted one, and both lighted in silence, eying 
 each other over their matches. 
 
 "Won't do," said Billinger, spitting on his 
 match before tossing it among the grass. "It's 
 ten miles across this wire-dip, and we won't 
 make it until night if we make it at all. I've 
 got an idea. You're a better trailer than I am, 
 so you follow this through. I'll ride on andt 
 278
 
 THE GIRL IN THE WRECK 
 
 see if I can pick up the trail somewhere in the 
 edge of the clean prairie. What do you say?" 
 
 "Good!" said Philip. "I believe you can 
 doit." 
 
 Billinger leaped into his saddle and was off 
 at a gallop. Philip was almost eagerly anxious 
 for this opportunity, and scarcely had the other 
 gone when he drew the linen handkerchief and 
 the crumpled lock of hair from his pocket and 
 held them in his hand as he looked after the 
 agent. Then, slowly, he raised the handker 
 chief to his face. For a full minute he stood 
 with the dainty fabric pressed to his lips and 
 nose. Back there when he had first held the 
 handkerchief he thought that he imagined. 
 But now he was sure. Faintly the bit of soiled 
 fabric breathed to him the sweet scent of hya 
 cinth. His eyes shone in an eager bloodshot 
 glare as he watched Billinger disappear over a 
 roll in the prairie a mile away. 
 
 "Making a fool of yourself again," he mut 
 tered, again winding the golden hair about his 
 270
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 fingers. "There are other women in the world 
 who use hyacinth besides her. And there are 
 other women with red-gold hair and pretty, 
 pretty as Billinger says she was, aren't there?" 
 
 He laughed, but there was something uneasy 
 and unnatural in the laugh. In spite of his ef 
 forts to argue the absurdity of his thoughts, he 
 could feel that he was trembling in every nerve 
 of his body. And twice three times he held 
 the handkerchief to his face before he reached 
 the rise in the prairie over which Billinger had 
 disappeared. The agent had been gone an hour 
 when the trail of the outlaws brought him to 
 the knoll. From the top of it Philip looked 
 over the prairie to the North. 
 
 A horseman was galloping toward him. He 
 knew that it was Billinger, and stood up in his 
 stirrups so that the other would see him. Half 
 a mile away the agent stopped and Philip could 
 see him signaling frantically with both arms, 
 Five minutes later Philip rode up to him. 
 Billinger's horse was half -winded, and in 
 280
 
 THE GIRL IN THE WRECK 
 
 Billinger's face there were tense lines of ex 
 citement. 
 
 "There's some one out on the prairie," he 
 called, as Philip reined in. "I couldn't makf 
 out a horse, but there's a man in the trail be 
 yond the second ridge. I believe they've 
 stopped to water their horses and feed at a 
 little lake just this side of the rough country." 
 
 Billinger had loosened his carbine, and was 
 examining the breech. He glanced anxiously 
 at Philip's empty saddle-straps. 
 
 "It'll be long-range shooting, if they've got 
 guns," he said. "Sorry I couldn't find a gun 
 for you." 
 
 Philip drew one of his two long-barreled 
 service revolvers and set his lips in a grim and 
 reassuring smile as he followed the bobbing 
 head of a coyote some distance away. 
 
 "We're not considered proficient in the serv 
 ice unless we can make use of these things at 
 two hundred yards, Billinger," he replied, re 
 placing the weapon in its holster. "If it's a 
 281
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 running fight I'd rather have 'em than a car 
 bine. If it isn't a running fight we'll come in 
 close." 
 
 Philip looked at the agent as they galloped 
 jide by side through the long grass, and Bil- 
 linger looked at him. In the face of each there 
 ;vas something which gave the other assurance. 
 For the first time it struck Philip that his com 
 panion was something more than an operator 
 at Bleak House Station. He was a fighter. He 
 was a man of the stamp needed down at Head 
 quarters, and he was bound to tell him so be 
 fore this affair was over. He was thinking of 
 it when they came to the second ridge. 
 
 Five miles to the north and west loomed the 
 black line of the Bad Lands. To a tenderfoot 
 they would not have appeared to be more than 
 i mile distant. Midway in the prairie between 
 there toiled a human figure. Even at that dis 
 tance Philip and Billinger could see that it was 
 noving, though with a slowness that puzzled 
 them. For several minutes they stood breath- 
 282
 
 THE GIRL IN THE WRECK 
 
 ing their horses, their eyes glued on the object 
 ahead of them. Twice in a space of a hundred 
 yards it seemed to stumble and fall. The sec 
 ond time that it rose Philip knew that it was 
 standing motionless. Then it disappeared 
 again. He stared until the rolling heat waves 
 of the blistered prairie stung his eyes. The ob 
 ject did not rise. Blinking, he looked at Bil- 
 linger, and through the sweat and grime of the 
 other's face he saw the question that was on his 
 own lips. Without a word they spurred down 
 the slope, and after a time Billinger swept to 
 the right and Philip to the left, each with his 
 eyes searching the low prairie grass. The 
 agent saw the thing first, still a hundred yards 
 to his right. He was off his horse when 
 Philip whirled at his shout and galloped across 
 to him. 
 
 "It's her the girl I found in the wreck," he 
 said. Something seemed to be choking him. 
 His neck muscles twitched and his long, lear 
 fingers were digging into his own flesh. 
 283
 
 PHILIP STEELK 
 
 In an instant Philip was on his feet. He 
 saw nothing of the girl's face, hidden under 
 a mass of hair in which the sun burned like 
 golden fire. He saw nothing but the crumpled, 
 lifeless form, smothered under the shining 
 mass, and yet in this moment he knew. With 
 a fierce cry he dropped upon his knees and 
 drew away the girl's hair until her lovely face 
 lay revealed to him in terrible pallor and still 
 ness, and as Billinger stood there, tense and 
 staring, he caught that face ck>se to his breast, 
 and began talking to it as though he had gone 
 mad. 
 
 "Isobel Isobel Isobel " he moaned. "My 
 God, my Isobel " 
 
 He had repeated the name a hundred times, 
 vvhen Billinger, who began to understand, put 
 his hand on Philip's shoulder and gave him 
 his water canteen. 
 
 "She's not dead, man," he said, as Philip's 
 Ted eyes glared up at him. "Here water." 
 
 "My God it's strange," almost moaned 
 284
 
 THE GIRL IN THE WRECK 
 
 Philip. "Billinger you understand she's go 
 ing to be my wife if she lives " 
 
 That was all of the story he told, but Bil 
 linger knew what those few words meant. 
 
 "She's going to live," he said. "See 
 there's color coming back into her face she's 
 breathing." He bathed her face in water, and 
 placed the canteen to her lips. 
 
 A moment later Philip bent down and kissed 
 her. "Isobel my sweetheart " he whispered. 
 
 "We must hurry with her to the water hole," 
 said Billinger, laying a sympathetic hand on 
 Philip's shoulder. "It's the sun. Thank God, 
 nothing has happened to her, Steele. It's the 
 sun this terrible heat " 
 
 He almost pulled Philip to his feet, and when 
 he had mounted Billinger lifted the girl very 
 gently and gave her to him. 
 
 Then, with the agent leading in the trail of 
 the outlaws, they set off at a walk through the 
 sickening sun-glare for the water hole in the 
 edge of the Bad Lands. 
 
 285
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 HUNCHED over, with Isobel's head shel 
 tered against his breast, Philip rode a 
 dozen paces behind the agent. It seemed as if 
 the sun had suddenly burst in molten fire upon 
 the back of his neck, and for a time it made 
 him dizzy. His bridle reins hung loosely over 
 the pommel. He made no effort to guide his 
 horse, which followed after Billinger's. 
 
 It was Billinger who brought him back to 
 himself. The agent waited for them, and 
 when he swung over in one stirrup to look at 
 the girl it was the animal ferocity in his face, 
 and not his words, that aroused Philip. 
 
 "She's coming to," he said, straining to keep 
 the tremble out of his voice. "I don't believe 
 .she's much hurt. You take this canteen. I'm 
 going ahead." 
 
 286
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 He gave Philip the water and leaned over 
 again to gaze into the girl's face. 
 
 "I don't believe she's much hurt," he re 
 peated in a hoarse, dry whisper. "You can 
 leave her at the water hole just beyond that 
 hill off there and then you can follow me." 
 
 Philip clutched the girl tighter to him as the 
 agent rode off. He saw the first faint flush 
 returning into her cheeks, the reddening of her 
 lips, the gentle tremor of her silken lashes, and 
 forgetful of all else but her, he moaned her 
 name, cried out his love for her, again and 
 again, even as her eyes opened and she stared 
 up into the face of the man who had come to 
 her first at Lac Bain, and who had fought for 
 her there. For a breath or two the wonder of 
 this thing that was happening held her speech 
 less and still lifeless, though her senses were 
 adjusting themselves with lightning swiftness. 
 At first Philip had not seen her open eyes, and 
 he believed that she did not hear the words of 
 love he whispered in her hair. When he raised 
 287
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 her face a little from his breast she was look 
 ing at him with all the sweet sanity in the 
 world. 
 
 A moment there was silence a silence of 
 even the breath in Philip's body, the beating of 
 his heart. His arms loosened a little. He 
 drew himself up rigid, and the girl lifted her 
 head a trifle, so that their eyes met squarely, 
 and a world of question and understanding 
 passed between them in an instant. 
 
 As swift as morning glow a flush mounted 
 into Isobel's face, then ebbed as swiftly, and 
 Philip cried : "You were hurt hurt back there 
 in the wreck. But you're safe now. The 
 train was wrecked by outlaws. We came out 
 after them, and I I found you back there on 
 the prairie. You're safe now." 
 
 His arms tightened about her again. 
 
 "You're all right now," he repeated gently. 
 
 He was not conscious of the sobbing break in 
 
 his voice, or of the great, throbbing love that 
 
 it breathed to her. He tried to speak calmly. 
 
 288
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 **\ nerc s nothing wrong nothing. The heat 
 made you sick. But you're all right now " 
 
 From beyond the hill there came a sound 
 that made him break off with a sudden, quick 
 breath. It was the sharp, stinging report of 
 Billinger's carbine ! Once, twice, three times 
 and then there followed more distant shots ! 
 
 "He's come up with them!" he cried. The 
 fury of fight, of desire for vengeance, blazed 
 anew in his face. There was pain in the grip 
 of his arm about the girl. "Do you feel strong 
 strong enough to ride fast?" he asked. 
 "There's only one man with me, and there are 
 five of them. It's murder to let him fight it 
 alone!" 
 
 "Yes yes " whispered the girl, her arms 
 tightening round him. "Ride fast or put me 
 off. I can follow " 
 
 It was the first time that he had heard her 
 voice since that last evening up at Lac Bain, 
 many months before, and the sound of it 
 thrilled him. 
 
 289
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "Hold tight!" he breathed. 
 
 Like the wind they swept across the prairie 
 and up the slope of the hill. At the top Philip 
 reined in. Three or four hundred yards dis 
 tant lay a thick clump of poplar trees and a 
 thousand yards beyond that the first black es 
 carpments of the Bad Lands. In the space 
 between a horseman was galloping fiercely to 
 the west. It was not Billinger. With a quick 
 movement Philip slipped the girl to the ground, 
 and when she sprang a step back, looking up at 
 him in white terror, he had whipped out one of 
 his big service revolvers. 
 
 "There's a little lake over there among those 
 trees," he said. "Wait there until I come 
 back!" 
 
 He raced down the slope not to cut off the 
 flying horseman but toward the clump of 
 poplars. It was Billinger he was thinking of 
 now. The agent had fired three shots. There 
 had Allowed other shots, not Billinger's, and 
 aftej that his carbine had remained silent. 
 290
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 Billinger was among the poplars. He was hurt 
 or dead. 
 
 A well-worn trail, beaten down by transient 
 rangers, cut through the stunted growth of 
 prairie timber, and without checking his speed 
 Philip sped along it, only his head and shoul 
 ders and his big revolver showing over his 
 horse's ears. A hundred paces and the timber 
 gave place to a sandy dip, in the center of 
 which was the water hole. The dip was not 
 more than an acre in extent. Up to his knees 
 in the hole was Billinger's riderless horse, 
 and a little way up the sand was Billinger, 
 doubled over on his hands and knees beside 
 two black objects that Philip knew were men, 
 stretched out like the dead back at the wreck. 
 Billinger's yellow-mustached face, pallid and 
 twisted with pain, looked over them as Philip 
 galloped across the open and sprang out of his 
 saddle. With a terrible grimace he raised 
 himself to his knees, anticipating the question 
 on Philip's lips. 
 
 291
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "Nothing very bad, Steele," he said. "One 
 of the cusses pinked me through the leg, and 
 broke it, I guess. Painful, but not killing 
 Now look at that !" 
 
 He nodded to the two men lying with their 
 faces turned up to the hot glare of the sun. 
 One glance was enough to tell Philip that they 
 were dead, and that it was not Billinger who 
 had killed them. Their bearded faces had 
 stiffened in the first agonies of death. Their 
 breasts were soaked with blood and their arms 
 had been drawn down close to their sides. 
 
 As he looked the gleam of a metal buckle on 
 the belt of the dead man nearest him, caught 
 Philip's eye. He took a step nearer to examine 
 it and then drew back. This bit of metal told 
 the story it bore the letters R. N. W. M. P. 
 
 "I thought so," he muttered with a slight 
 catch in his voice. "You didn't follow my good 
 advice, Bucky Nome, and now you reap the 
 harvest of your folly. You have paid your 
 debt to M'sieur Janette." 
 292
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 Then Philip turned quickly and looked back 
 at Billinger. In his hand the agent held a pa 
 per package, which he had torn open. A second 
 and similar package lay in the sand in front 
 of him. 
 
 "Currency!" he gasped. "It's a part of the 
 money stolen from the express car. The two 
 hundred thousand was done up in five pack 
 ages, and here are two of 'em. Those men 
 were dead when I came, and each had a pack 
 age lying on his breast. The fellow who 
 pinked me was just leaving the dip!" 
 
 He dropped the package and began ripping 
 down his trouser leg with a knife. Philip 
 dropped on his knees beside him, but Billinger 
 motioned him back. 
 
 "It's not bleeding bad," he said. "I can fix 
 it alone." 
 
 "You're certain, Billinger " 
 
 "Sure!" laughed the agent, though he was 
 biting his lips until they were flecked with 
 blood. "There's no need of you wasting time." 
 293
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 For a moment Philip clutched the other's 
 hand. 
 
 "We can't understand what this all means, 
 old man the carrying off of of Isobel and 
 the money here, but we'll find out soon !" 
 
 "Leave that confounded carbine," exclaimed 
 Billinger, as the other rose to mount. "I did 
 rotten work with it, and the other fellow fixed 
 me with a pistol. That's why I'm not bleed 
 ing very much." 
 
 The outlaw had disappeared in the black 
 edge of the Bad Lands when Philip dashed up 
 out of the dip into the plain. There was only 
 one break ahead of him, and toward this he 
 urged his horse. In the entrance to the break 
 there was another sandy but waterless dip, and 
 across this trailed the hoof-prints of the out 
 laws' mounts, two at a walk one at a gallop. 
 At one time, ages before, the break had been 
 the outlet of a stream pouring itself out be 
 tween jagged and cavernous walls of rock from 
 the black heart of the upheaved country within. 
 294
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 Now the bed of it was strewn with broken trap 
 and masses of boulders, cracked and dried by 
 centuries of blistering sun. 
 
 Philip's heart beat a little faster as he urged 
 his horse ahead, and not for an instant did his 
 cocked revolver drop from its guard over the 
 mare's ears. He knew, if he overtook the out 
 laws in retreat, that there would be a fight, and 
 that it would be three against one. That was 
 what he hoped for. It was an ambush that he 
 dreaded. He realized that if the outlaws 
 stopped and waited for him he would be at a 
 terrible disadvantage. In open fight he was con 
 fident. His prairie-bred mount took the rough 
 trail at a swift canter, evading the boulders 
 and knife-edged trap in the same guarded man 
 ner that she galloped over prairie-dog and 
 badger holes out upon the plain. Twice in 
 the ten minutes that followed their entrance 
 into the chasm Philip saw movement ahead of 
 him, and each time his revolver leaped to it. 
 Once it was a wolf, again the swiftly movine 
 295
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 shadow of an eagle sweeping with spread 
 wings between him and the sun. He watched 
 every concealment as he approached and half 
 swung in his saddle in passing, ready to fire. 
 
 A quick turn in the creek bed, where the 
 rock walls hugged in close, and his mare 
 planted her forefeet with a suddenness that 
 nearly sent him over her head. Directly in 
 their path, struggling to rise from among the 
 rocks, was a riderless horse. Two hundred 
 yards beyond a man on foot was running 
 swiftly up the chasm, and a pistol shot beyond 
 him two others on horseback had turned and 
 were waiting. 
 
 "Lord, if I had Billinger's gun now!" 
 groaned Philip. 
 
 At the sound of his voice and the pressure 
 of his heels in her flank the mare vaulted over 
 the animal in their path. The clatter of pur 
 suing hoofs stopped the runner for an instant, 
 and in that same instant Philip halted and rose 
 in his stirrups to fire. As his finger pressed the 
 296
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 trigger there came to his ears a thrilling sound 
 from behind him the sharp galloping beat of 
 steel upon rock! Billinger was coming Bil- 
 linger, with his broken leg and his carbine! 
 He could have shouted for joy as he fired. 
 Once twice, and the outlaw was speeding 
 ahead of him again, unhurt A third shot and 
 the man stumbled among the rocks and disap 
 peared. There was no movement toward re 
 treat on the part of the mounted men, and 
 Philip listened as he slipped in fresh cartridges, 
 His horse was panting; he could hear the ex 
 cited and joyous tumult of his own heart but 
 above it all he heard the steady beat, beat, beat 
 of those approaching hoofs! Billinger would 
 be there soon in time to use his carbine at a 
 deadly rate, while he got into closer quarters 
 with his revolver. God bless Billinger and 
 his broken leg! 
 
 He was filled with the craze of fight now 
 and it found vent in a yell of defiance as he 
 spurred on toward the outlaws. They were 
 297
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 not going to run. They were waiting for him. 
 He caught the gleam of the hot sun on their 
 revolvers, and saw that they meant business as 
 they swung a little apart to divide his fire. At 
 one hundred yards Philip still held his gun af 
 his side; at sixty he pulled in his mare, flat 
 tened along her neck like an Indian, his pistol 
 arm swinging free between her ears. It was 
 one of the cleverest fighting tricks of the serv 
 ice, and he made the movement as the guns of 
 the others leaped before their faces. Two 
 shots sang over his head, so close that they 
 would have swept him from the saddle if he 
 had been erect. In another moment the rock- 
 bound chasm echoed with the steady roar of 
 the three revolvers. In front of the flaming 
 end of his own gun Philip saw the outlaw on 
 the right pitch forward in his saddle and fall 
 to the ground. He sent his last shot at the 
 man on the left and drew his second gun. Be 
 fore he could fire again his mare gave a tre 
 mendous lunge forward and stumbled upon 
 298
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 her knees, and with a gasp of horror Philip, 
 felt the saddle-girth slip as he swung to free 
 himself. 
 
 In the few terrible seconds that followed 
 Philip was conscious of two things that death 
 was very near, and that Billinger was a mo 
 ment too late. Less than ten paces away the 
 outlaw was deliberately taking aim at him, 
 while his own pistol arm was pinned under the 
 weight of his body. For a breath he ceased to 
 struggle, looking up in frozen calmness at the 
 man whose finger was already crooked to fire. 
 When a shot suddenly rang out, it passed 
 through him in a lightning flash that it was the 
 shot intended for him. But he saw no move 
 ment in the outlaw's arm; no smoke from his 
 gun. For a moment the man sat rigid and stiff 
 in his saddle. Then his arm dropped. His 
 revolver fell with a clatter among the stones. 
 He slipped sidewise with a low groan and 
 tumbled limp and lifeless almost at Philip's 
 feet 
 
 299
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 "Billinger Billinger " 
 
 The words came in a sob of joy from Philip's 
 lips. Billinger had come in time just in time! 
 He struggled so that he could turn his head 
 and look down the chasm. Yes, there was 
 Billinger a hundred yards away, hunched 
 over his saddle. Billinger, with his broken 
 leg, his magnificent courage, his 
 
 With a wild cry Philip jerked himself free. 
 Good God, it was not Billinger! It was Iso- 
 bel! She had slipped from the saddle he saw 
 her as she tottered a few steps among the 
 rocks and then sank down among them. With 
 his pistol still in his hand he ran back to where 
 Billinger's horse was standing. The girl was 
 crumpled against the side of a boulder, with 
 her head in her arms and she was crying. In 
 an instant he was beside her, and all that he 
 had ever dreamed of, all that he had ever hoped 
 for, burst from his lips as he caught her and 
 held her close against his breast. Yet he never 
 could have told what he said. Only he knew 
 300
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 that her arms were clasped about his neck, and 
 that, as she pressed her face against him, she 
 sobbed over and over again something about 
 the old days at Lac Bain and that she loved 
 him, loved him! Then his eyes turned up the 
 chasm, and what he saw there made him bend 
 low behind the boulder and brought a strange 
 thrill into his voice. 
 
 "You will stay here a little while," he 
 whispered, running his fingers through her 
 shining hair. There was a tone of gentle com 
 mand in his words as he placed her against the 
 rock. "I must go back for a few minutes. 
 There is no danger now." 
 
 He stooped and picked up the carbine which 
 had fallen from her hand. There was one 
 cartridge still in the breech. Replacing his re 
 volver in its holster he rose above the rocks, 
 ready to swing the rifle to his shoulder. Up 
 where the outlaws lay, a man was standing ir 
 the trail. He was making no effort to conceal 
 himself, and did not see Philip until he was 
 301
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 within fifty paces of him. Even then he did 
 not show surprise. Apparently he was un 
 armed, and Philip dropped the muzzle of his 
 carbine. The man motioned for him to ad 
 vance, standing with a spread hand resting on 
 either hip. He was hatless and coatless. His 
 hair was long. His face was covered with a 
 scraggly growth of red beard, too short to 
 hide his sunken cheeks. He might have been 
 a man half starved, and yet there was strength 
 in his bony frame and his eyes were as keen as 
 a serpent's. 
 
 "Got in just in time to miss the fun after 
 all," he said coolly. "Queer game, wasn't it? 
 I was ahead of you up as far as the water hole. 
 Saw what happened there." 
 
 Philip's hand dropped on the butt of his re 
 volver. 
 
 "Who are you?" he asked. 
 
 "Me? I'm Blackstone Jim Blackstone, 
 from over beyond the elbow. I guess everybody 
 for fifty miles round here knows me. And I 
 302
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 guess I'm the only one who knows what's hap 
 pened and why." He had stepped behind a 
 huge rock that shut out the lower trail from 
 them and Philip followed, his hand still on his 
 revolver. "They're both dead," added the 
 stranger, signifying with a nod of his head that 
 he meant the outlaws. "One of them was 
 alive when I came up, but I ran my knife be 
 tween his ribs, and he's dead now." 
 
 "The devil!" cried Philip, half drawing his 
 revolver at the ferocious leer in the other's 
 face. 
 
 "Wait," exclaimed the man, "and see if I'm 
 not right. The man who was responsible for 
 the wreck back there is my deadliest enemy 
 has been for years, and now I'm even up with 
 him. And I guess in the eyes of the law I've 
 got the right to it. What do you say ?" 
 
 "Go on," said Philip. 
 
 The snake-like eyes of the man burned with 
 a dull flame and yet he spoke calmly. 
 
 "He came out here from England four years 
 303
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 ago," he went on. "He was forced to come. 
 Understand ? He was such a devil back among 
 his people half a criminal even then that he 
 was sent out here on a regular monthly remit 
 tance. After that everything went the way of 
 his younger brother. His father married 
 again, and the second year he became even less 
 than a remittance man, for his allowance was 
 cut off. He was bad bad from the start, and 
 he went from bad to worse out here. He 
 gambled, fought, robbed, and became the head 
 of a gang of scoundrels as dangerous as him 
 self. He brooded over what he considered his 
 wrongs until he went a little mad. He lived 
 only to avenge himself. At the first opportu 
 nity he was prepared to kill his father and his 
 step-mother. Then, a few weeks ago, he 
 learned that these two were coming to America 
 and that on their way to Vancouver they would 
 pass through Bleak House Station. He went 
 completely mad then, and planned to destroy 
 them, and rob the train. You know how he 
 34
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 and his gang did the job. After it was over and 
 they had got the money, he let his gang go on 
 ahead of him while he went back to the wreck 
 of the sleeper. He wanted to make sure that 
 they were dead. Do you see?" 
 
 "Yes," said Philip tensely, "go on." 
 "And when he got there," continued the 
 other, bowing his head as he filled an old briar 
 pipe with tobacco, "he found some one else, 
 tt's strange and you may wonder how I know 
 it all. But it's true. Back in England he had 
 worshipped a young girl. Like the others, she 
 detested him; and yet he loved her and would 
 have died for her. And in the wreck of the 
 sleeper he found her and her father both 
 dead. He brought her out, and when no one 
 was near carried her through the night to his 
 horse. The knowledge that he had killed her 
 the only creature in the world that he loved 
 brought him back to sanity. It filled him with 
 a new desire for vengeance but vengeance of 
 another kind. To achieve this vengeance he 
 30.5
 
 PHILIP STEELE 
 
 was compelled to leave her dead body miles 
 out on the prairie. Then he hurried to over 
 take his comrades. As their leader he had 
 kept possession of the money they had taken 
 from the express car. The division was to be 
 made at the water hole. The gang was wait 
 ing for him there. The money was divided, 
 and two of the gang rode ahead. The other 
 two were to go in another direction so as to di 
 vide the pursuit. The remittance man remained 
 with them, and when the others had gone a 
 distance he killed them both. He was sane 
 now, you understand. He had committed a 
 great crime and he was employing his own 
 method of undoing it. Then he was going 
 back to bury her." 
 
 The man's voice broke. A great sob shook 
 his frame. When he looked up, Philip hac 1 
 drawn his revolver. 
 
 "And the remittance man " he began. 
 
 "Is myself Jim Blackstone at your serv- 
 ice." 
 
 306
 
 THE BATTLE IN THE CANYON 
 
 The man turned his back to Philip, hunched 
 over, as if bent in grief. For a moment he 
 stood thus. There followed in that same mo 
 ment the loud report of a pistol, and when 
 Philip leaped to catch his tottering form the 
 glaze of death was in the outlaw's eyes. 
 
 "I was going to do this back there be 
 side her," he gasped faintly. A shiver ran 
 through him and his head dropped limply for 
 ward. 
 
 Philip laid him with his face toward a rock 
 and stepped out from his concealment. The 
 girl had heard the pistol shot and was running 
 up the trail. 
 
 "What was that?" she asked, when he had 
 hurried to her. 
 
 "The last shot, sweetheart," he answered 
 softly, catching her in his arms. "We're go 
 ing back to Billinger now, and then home." 
 
 THE END
 
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