So hard was the frozen crust of the Barren that snowshoes were no longer necessary, and half a dozen times Philip left the sledge and ran with the wolf-man and his pack until he was winded.

Twice he ran shoulder to shoulder with Bram.
It was in the middle of the afternoon that his compass told him they were no longer traveling north--but almost due west.

Every quarter of an hour after that he looked at his compass.

And always the course was west.
He was convinced that some unusual excitement was urging Bram on, and he was equally certain this excitement had taken possession of him from the moment he had found the food in his pack.

Again and again he heard the strange giant mumbling incoherently to himself, but not once did Bram utter a word that he could understand.
The gray world about them was darkening when at last they stopped.
And now, strangely as before, Bram seemed for a few moments to turn into a sane man.
He pointed to the bundle of fuel, and as casually as though he had been conversing with him all the day he said to Philip: "A fire, m'sieu." The wolves had dropped in their traces, their great shaggy heads stretched out between their paws in utter exhaustion, and Bram went slowly down the line speaking to each one in turn.