That day he traveled nearly thirty miles, over a country broken by timbered ridges, and toward evening came to the beginning of the open country that lay between him and the forests about Lac Bain.  It had been a hard day’s travel, but he did not feel exhausted.  The full moon was rising at nine o’clock, and Philip rested for two hours, cooking and eating his supper, and then resumed his journey, determined to make sufficient progress before camping to enable him to reach the post by the following noon.  It was midnight when he put up his light tent, built a fire, and went to sleep.  He was up again at dawn.  At two o’clock he came into the clearing about Lac Bain.  As he hurried to Breed’s quarters he wondered if Colonel Becker or Isobel had seen him from their window.  He had noticed that the curtain was up, and that a thin spiral of smoke was rising from the clay chimney that descended to the fireplace in their room.

He found Breed, the factor, poring over one of the ledgers which he and Colonel Becker had examined.  He started to his feet when he saw Philip.

“Where in the name of blazes have you been?” were his first words, as he held out a hand.  “I’ve been hunting the country over for you, and had about come to the conclusion that you and Bucky Nome were dead.”

“Hunting for me,” said Philip.  “What for?”

Breed shrugged his shoulders.

“The colonel an’—­Miss Isobel,” he said.  “They wanted to see you so bad that I had men out for three days after you’d gone looking for you.  Couldn’t even find your trail.  I’m curious to know what was up.”

Philip laughed.  He felt a tingling joy running through every vein in his body.  It was difficult for him to repress the trembling eagerness in his voice, as he said:  “Well, I’m here.  I wonder if they want to see me—­now.”

“Suppose they do,” replied Breed, slowly lighting his pipe.  “But you’ve hung off too long.  They’re gone.”

“Gone?” Philip stared at the factor.

“Gone?” he demanded again.

“Left this morning—­for Churchill,” affirmed Breed.  “Two sledges, two Indians, the colonel and Miss Isobel.”

For a few moments Philip stood in silence, staring straight out through the one window of the room with his back to the factor.

“Did they leave any word for me?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then—­I must follow them!” He spoke the words more to himself than to Breed.  The factor regarded him in undisguised astonishment and Philip, turning toward him, hastened to add:  “I can’t tell you why.  Breed—­but it’s necessary that I overtake them as soon as possible.  I don’t want to lose a day—­not an hour.  Can you lend me a team and a driver?”

“I’ve got a scrub team,” said Breed, “but there isn’t another man that I can spare from the post.  There’s LeCroix, ten miles to the west.  If you can wait until to-morrow—­”

“I must follow this afternoon—­now,” interrupted Philip.  “They will have left a clean trail behind, and I can overtake them some time to-morrow.  Will you have the team made ready for me—­a light sledge, it you’ve got it.”