There were other overflows underfoot now, but the cold had frozen them and the going was getting constantly better.  The snow was thin and in places the sleds slewed sidewise and the dogs ran on slack traces across long stretches of bare glare ice.  It was while negotiating such a place as this that Rock paid the price of his earlier carelessness.  Doret’s dry moose-skin soles had a sure grip, hence he never hesitated, but the lieutenant’s moccasins were like a pair of tin shoes now and, without warning, he lost his footing.  He was running swiftly at the moment; he strove to save himself, to twist in midair, but he failed.  ’Poleon heard a cry of pain and dismay, so he halted his team and came striding back.  Rock raised himself, then took a step, but faltered and clung helplessly to the handlebars.  He began to curse furiously; he undertook to estimate the extent of his injury, then explained: 

“My foot doubled under me and I came down on it like a ton of bricks.  By Heavens!  I believe something broke!”

’Poleon was solicitous.  He blamed himself, too.  “It’s dem wet moccasin’.  I should have stop’ an’ mak’ you change,” said he.

“We can’t stop,” Rock groaned.  “I’ll be all right as soon as—­” The words ended in another explosive oath as he again put his weight upon the injured member.  Blasphemy poured from his lips as repeatedly he tried to force his foot to carry him.  He cursed himself for a clumsy, blundering ass; he shouted at his dogs; he sent his sled forward and lurched along behind it, half supporting himself, until ’Poleon finally halted him.

“It’s no good mak’ bad t’ing worse, M’sieu’,” the woodsman declared.  “You bus’ him for sure, an’ it’s no use goin’ furder.  S’pose mebbe we boil de kettle, eh?”

“And let them get away clean?  When we had ’em?  They can’t be a mile ahead.  Let ’em slip between our fingers?” raved the officer.  “I can’t.  I won’t—­”

“We mak’ li’l fire an’ look him over dat foot.  Me, I t’ink you don’ walk no more for two, free week’.”

“You go!  I’ll deputize you!  Get ’em, Doret, quick!  You can do it!  I’ll wait!  Go ahead!”

The other nodded.  “Sure, I can get ’em!  I never have no doubt ’bout dat in de least, but it’s better we fix you comfor’ble.”

“They’ll be across, I tell you—­over the Line—­”

“I came pas’ dat place more ’n once or twice”—­the French Canadian grinned—­“an’ I never seen it no Line.”  He forced his companion to lower himself upon the sled, then swung it toward the river-bank, calling upon his own lead dog to follow.  Up and into the shelter of the spruce he drove the Police team; quickly he felled dry wood and kindled a fire.  This took but a few moments, but Rock was wet with sweat and in consequence he was shivering wretchedly; his teeth were chattering even before the blaze had taken hold.  ’Poleon continued to work with what speed he could, and in a surprisingly short time he had built a snug wickiup