Not once in that time did Bram diverge from his steady
course into the north. In the gray gloom, without a stone or a
tree to mark his way, his sense of orientation was directing him
as infallibly as the sensitive needle of the instrument which
Philip carried.
It was in the third hour, seven or eight miles from the scene of
slaughter, that Philip came upon the first stopping place of the
sledge. The wolves had not broken their traveling rank, and for
this reason he guessed that Bram had paused only long enough to
put on his snowshoes. After this Philip could measure quite
accurately the speed of the outlaw and his pack. Bram's snow-shoe
strides were from twelve to sixteen inches longer than his own,
and there was little doubt that Bram was traveling six miles to
his four.
It was one o'clock when Philip stopped to eat his dinner. He
figured that he was fifteen miles from the timber-line. As he ate
there pressed upon him more and more persistently the feeling that
he had entered upon an adventure which was leading toward
inevitable disaster for him.
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