But about the snare, Pierre Breault, say not a word.

Do you understand?
If he is a loup-garou man, and weaves golden hairs out of the winds--" "I will say nothing, M'sieu," shuddered Pierre.
They shook hands, and parted in silence.

Philip set his face to the west, and a few moments later, looking back, he could no longer see Pierre.

For an hour after that he was oppressed by the feeling that he was voluntarily taking a desperate chance.

For reasons which he had arrived at during the night he had left his dogs and sledge with Pierre, and was traveling light.