A mile and three quarters now separated the two teams, and as they followed in the trail that the others had to make, their confidence seemed justified. But nature and man alike were to take a hand and upset their calculations. In the wind once more there came a smother of snow. It was severe whilst it lasted, and blotted out all vision of the team ahead. As it cleared, the two pursuers saw that their quarry had turned inshore, moving obliquely towards a tree-crowned bluff that jutted out into the lake. Jean Bènard marked the move, and spoke almost gleefully.
"Dey fear zee snow, an' go to make camp. By zee mass, we get dem like a wolf in zee trap!"
The sledge they pursued drew nearer the bluff, then suddenly Jean Bènard threw back his head in a listening attitude.
"Hark!" he cried: "what was dat?"
"I heard nothing," answered Stane. "What did you fancy you——"
The sentence was never finished, for borne to him on the wind came two or three sharp sounds like the cracks of distant rifles. He looked at his companion.
"The detonation of bursting trees far in the wood," he began, only to be interrupted.
"Non, non! not zee trees, but rifles, look dere, m'sieu, someting ees happening."
It certainly seemed so. The sled which had almost reached the bluff, had swung from it again, and had turned towards the open lake. But now, instead of three figures, they could see only one; and even whilst they watched, again came the distant crack of a rifle—a faint far-away sound, something felt by sensitive nerves rather than anything heard—and the solitary man left with the sledge and making for the sanctuary of the open lake, plunged suddenly forward, disappearing from sight in the snow. Another fusillade, and the sled halted, just as the two men broke from the cover of the bluff and began to run across the snow in the direction of it.
"By gar! By gar!" cried Jean Bènard in great excitement. "Tings dey happen. Dere are oder men who want Chigmok, an' dey get heem, too."