Philip's heart gave a jump. Here, at last, would the mystery of
the golden snare be solved. This was his first thought. But as
they drew nearer, and stopped at the threshold of the door, he
felt sweep over him an utter disappointment. There was no life
here. No smoke came from the chimney and the door was almost
buried in a huge drift of snow. His thoughts were cut short by the
crack of Bram's whip. The wolves swept onward and Bram's insane
laugh sent a weird and shuddering echo through the forest.
From the time they left behind them the lifeless and snow-
smothered cabin Philip lost account of time and direction. He
believed that Bram was nearing the end of his trail. The wolves
were dead tired. The wolf-man himself was lagging, and since
midnight had ridden more frequently on the sledge. Still he drove
on, and Philip searched with increasing eagerness the trail ahead
of them.
It was eight o'clock--two hours after they had passed the cabin--
when they came to the edge of a clearing in the center of which
was a second cabin.
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