Each day he had built three fires, but at the end of this day, when darkness stopped him again, it occurred to him that since that morning DeBar had built but one.

Gray dawn had scarcely broken when he again took up the pursuit.

It was bitterly cold, and a biting wind swept down across the barrens from the Arctic icebergs.

His pocket thermometer registered sixty degrees below zero when he left it open on the sledge, and six times between dawn and dusk he built himself fires.

Again DeBar built but one, and this time he found no bannock crumbs.
For the last twenty miles DeBar had gone straight into the North.