He continued straight into the North the next day and several times Philip scrutinized his map, which told him in that direction there lay nothing but peopleless barrens as far as the Great Slave.
There was growing in him now a fear--a fear that DeBar would beat him out in the race.

His limbs began to ache with a strange pain and his progress was becoming slower.

At intervals he stopped to rest, and after each of these intervals the pain seemed to gnaw deeper at his bones, forcing him to limp, as the dogs were limping behind him.

He had felt it once before, beyond Lac Bain, and knew what it meant.

His legs were giving out--and DeBar would beat him yet! The thought stirred him on, and before he stopped again he came to the edge of a little lake.