Never in all the years afterward did he forget that day.  As the hours passed it seemed to him that neither man nor beast could very long stand the strain endured by Bram and his wolves.  At times Bram rode on the sledge for short distances, but for the most part he was running behind, or at the head of the pack.  For the pack there was no rest.  Hour after hour it surged steadily onward over the endless plain, and whenever the wolves sagged for a moment in their traces Brain’s whip snapped over their gray backs and his voice rang out in fierce exhortation.  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.  After that he fell again into his stolid silence.  From the bear skins he produced a kettle, filled it with snow, and hung it over the pile of fagots to which Philip was touching a match.  Philip’s tea pail he employed in the same way.

“How far have we come, Bram?” Philip asked.

“Fift’ mile, m’sieu,” answered Bram without hesitation.

“And how much farther have we to go?”

Bram grunted.  His face became more stolid.  In his hand he was holding the big knife with which he cut the caribou meat.  He was staring at it.  From the knife he looked at Philip.

“I keel ze man at God’s Lake because he steal ze knife—­an’ call me lie.  I keel heem—­lak that!”—­and he snatched up a stick and broke it into two pieces.