He did not lose sight of Peter, questing out in widening circles below him.
And then, quite unexpectedly, something happened.

In the edge of a tiny meadow an eighth of a mile away Peter was acting strangely.

He was nosing the ground, gulping the wind, twisting eagerly back and forth.
Then he set out, steadily and with unmistakable decision, south and west.
In a flash Breault was on his feet, had caught up his pack, and was running for the meadow.

And there he found something in the velvety softness of the earth which brought a grim smile to his thin lips as he, too, set out south and west.
The scent he had found, hours old, drew Peter on until in the edge of the dusk of evening it brought him to a foot-worn trail leading to the Hudson's Bay Company post many miles south.

In this path, beaten by the feet of generations of forest dwellers, the hard heels of McKay's boots had made their imprint, and after this the scent was clearer under Peter's nose.