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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Golden Snare"

It's up to us to hit the high
spots, my dear--an' you might pray God to give us time for a
start."
If he had hoped to keep from her the full horror of their
situation, he knew, as he placed her on the sledge, that he had
failed. Her eyes told him that. Intuitively she had guessed at the
heart of the thing, and suddenly her arms reached up about his
neck as he bent over her and against his breast he heard the
sobbing cry that she was trying hard to choke back. Under the
cloud of her hair her warm, parted lips lay for a thrilling moment
against his own, and then he sprang to the dogs.
They had already roused themselves and at his command began
sullenly to drag their lame and exhausted bodies into trace
formation. As the sledge began to move he sent the long lash of
the driving whip curling viciously over the backs of the pack and
the pace increased. Straight ahead of them ran the white trail of
the Coppermine, and they were soon following this with the
eagerness of a team on the homeward stretch. As Philip ran behind
he made a fumbling inventory of the loose rifle cartridges in the
pocket of his coat, and under his breath prayed to God that the
day would come before the Eskimos closed in.


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