I scrambled down, slipping, and gashing my hands upon the rocks and ice. At the foot of the hill I saw two straight and narrow lines on the soft snow. They were the tracks of sleigh-runners.
I followed them, sobbing, and catching my breath, and screaming:
"Jacqueline! Jacqueline!"
Then I heard Simon's voice, and with the sound of it my dream came back with prophetic clearness.
"Bonjour, M. Hewlett!" he called mockingly. "This way! This way!"
I turned and rushed blindly in the direction of the cry. I had left my snow-shoes behind me in the hut, and at each step my feet broke through the crusted snow, so that I floundered and fell like a drunken man to choruses of taunts and laughter.
It was a horrible blindman's bluff, for they had surrounded me, yelling from every quarter.
"This way, monsieur! This way!" piped a thin, voice which I knew to be Philippe Lacroix.
A snowball struck me on the chin, and they began pelting me and laughing. I was like a baited bear. I was beside myself with rage and helpless fury. The icy balls hit my face a dozen times; one struck me behind the ear and hurled me down half stunned.
I was up again and rushing at my unseen tormentors. I heard the barking of the dogs far away, and I ran in the direction of the sound, sobbing with rage. I pulled my pistols from my pockets and spun round, firing in every direction through that wall of grey, yielding mist that gave me place but never gave me vision.