Corporal Carr, of the Royal Mounted of the Northwest, was a man without human sympathies.  He was thin faced, with a square, bony jaw, and lips that formed a straight line.  His eyes were greenish, like a cat’s, and were constantly shifting.  He was a beast of prey, as much as the wolf, the lynx, or the fox—­and his prey was men.  Only such a man as Carr, alone would have braved the treacherous snows and the intense cold of the Arctic winter to run him down.  Falkner knew that, as an hour later he looked over the roaring stove at his captor.  About Carr there was something of the unpleasant quickness, the sinuous movement, of the little white ermine—­the outlaw of the wilderness.  His eyes were as merciless.  At times Falkner caught the same red glint in them.  And above his despair, the utter hopelessness of his situation, there rose in him an intense hatred and loathing of the man.

Falkner’s hands were then securely tied behind him.

“I’d put the irons on you,” Carr had explained a hard, emotionless voice, “only I lost them somewhere back there.”

Beyond that he had not said a dozen words.  He had built up the fire, thawed himself out, and helped himself to food.  Now, for the first time, he loosened up a bit.

“I’ve had a devil of a chase,” he said bitterly, a cold glitter in his eyes as he looked at Falkner.  “I’ve been after you three months, and now that I’ve got you this accursed storm is going to hold me up!  And I left my dogs and outfit a mile back in the scrub.”

“Better go after ’em,” replied Falkner.  “If you don’t there won’t be any dogs an’ outfit by morning.”

Corporal Carr rose to his feet and went to the window.  In a moment he turned.

“I’ll do that,” he said.  “Stretch yourself out on the bunk.  I’ll have to lace you down pretty tight to keep you from playing a trick on me.”

There was something so merciless and brutal in his eyes and voice that Falkner felt like leaping upon him, even with his hands tied behind his back.

He was glad, however, that Carr had decided to go.  He was, filled with an overwhelming desire to be rid of him, if only for an hour.

He went to the bunk and lay down.  Corporal Carr approached, pulling a roll of babiche cord from his pocket.

“If you don’t mind you might tie my hands in front instead of behind,” suggested Falkner.  “It’s goin’ to be mighty unpleasant to have ’em under me, if I’ve got to lay here for an hour or two.”

“Not on your life I won’t tie ’em in front!” snapped Carr, his little eyes glittering.  And then he gave a cackling laugh, and his eyes were as green as a cat’s.  “An’ it won’t be half so unpleasant as having something ’round your neck!” he joked.

“I wish I was free,” breathed Falkner, his chest heaving.  “I wish we could fight, man t’ man.  I’d be willing to hang then, just to have the chance to break your neck.  You ain’t a man of the Law.  You’re a devil.”