"He's taken everything, the scum! left me to starve. Ha! one thing he's forgotten—the matches. At least I can keep warm."
He picked up the canister of matches and relit the stove.
"I'll kill him for this," he muttered. "Night and day I'll follow him. I'll camp on his trail till I find him. Then—I'll torture him; I'll strip him and leave him naked in the snow."
He slipped into his snowshoes, gave a last look around to see that no food had been left, and with a final growl of fury he started in pursuit.
Ahead of him, ploughing their way through the virgin snow, he could see the dragging track of the long snowshoes. He examined it, and noted that it was sharp and crisp at the edges.
"He's got a good five hours' start of me! Travelling fast, too, by the length of the track."
He had a thought of capturing the dogs and hitching them up; but, thoroughly terrified, they had retreated into the woods. To overtake this man, to glut his lust for revenge, he must depend on his own strength and endurance.
"Now, Jack Locasto," he told himself grimly, "you've got a fight on your hands, such a fight as you never had before. Get right down to it."
So, with head bowed and shoulders sloping forward, he darted on the track of the Worm.