Rouletta let him go without protest; her heart was heavier than lead; she could find no words whatever.  A new tragedy, it seemed, had risen to face her, for she realized now that she had hurt the man who loved her best of all.  That certainty filled her with such regret, such a feeling of guilt, that she could not bear to think of it.  A very poignant sense of pain troubled her as she turned into the Rialto, and as a consequence the lively clatter of the place grated upon her sensibilities; she felt a miserable, sick desire to shut her ears to this sound of laughter which was like ribald applause for the death-blow she had dealt.  Yes, she had dealt a death-blow, and to one most dear.  But how could she have known?  How could she have foreseen such a wretched complication as this?  Who would have dreamed that gay, careless, laughing ’Poleon Doret was like other men?  Rouletta felt the desire to bend her head and release those scalding tears that trembled on her lashes.

Lieutenant Rock was preparing for bed when ’Poleon, after some little difficulty, forced his way in upon him.  The officer listened to his caller’s recital, and even before it was finished he had begun to dress himself in his trail clothes.

“Courteau confessed, eh?  And the McCaskeys have disappeared—­taken French leave.  Say!  That changes the look of things, for a fact.  Of course they may have merely gone back to Hunker—­”

“In de middle of snow-storm?  Dis tam de night?  No.  Dey makin’ run for de Line an’ it’s goin’ tak’ fas’ team for pull ’em down.”

“Well, I’ve got the best dogs in town.”

Rock’s caller smiled.  “M’sieu’, dey goin’ travel some if dey keep in sight of me.”

“You?” Rock straightened himself.  “Will you go along?  Jove!  I’d like that!” he cried, heartily.  “I’ve heard you own a lively bunch of mutts.”

“I give you tas’e of Injun travel.  Better you dress light an’ buckle up dat belt, for I got reason to fin’ out who keel Courteau.  I ain’t goin’ sleep no more till I know.”

The officer smiled as he declared:  “That suits me exactly.  We may not catch them, but—­they’ll know they’ve been in a race before they thumb their noses at us from across the Boundary.  Now see how fast you can harness up.”

It was considerably after midnight when ’Poleon swung his dog-team into the lighted space in front of the Rialto; nevertheless, many people were about, for Dawson was a city of sleep-haters.  The sight of a racing-team equipped for a flying trip at this hour of the night evoked instant interest and speculation, pointing, as it did, to a new gold discovery and a stampede.  Stampedes were frequent, they never failed to create a sensation, therefore the woodsman was soon the center of an inquisitive crowd.  Not until he had fully explained the nature of his business was suspicion allayed; then his word that Joe and Frank McCaskey had fled for the Boundary ran up and down the street and caused even greater excitement.