handed he'd scoured those blizzard-flailed wastes, pursued at all times by the unre- lenting hostility of the Eskimos and the lurking hatred of some unknown witch- doctor. In an icy crypt overlooking the ice-filled Northwest Passage he’d found the bullet-riddled body of trader Janes; trailed the Eskimo murderers through a thousand miles of icy hell, and seen them tried and convicted by a judge and jury brought all the way from distant Mont- real to show these Stone Age killers that a white man could not be murdered with impunity. His mind swung to the solitary trader stationed at his lonely outpost amongst the crazed “God's” tribesmen at Home Bay. “Ask him,” he swung with furrowed forehead on the interpreter, “if Hector Pitchford, the trader, is safe.” The Eskimo’s expressionless face re- mained impassive. “No tell’um,” came the curt and unsatisfying reply. Fearful that Hector Pitchford might have fallen beneath the blood-stained snow-knives of Neuktuk’s frenzied con- yerts, and that another endless chase over blizzard-lashed glaciers and eternal ice would face his little force of exiles, Joy called to Corp. McInnes. Swiftly he unfolded the story told by Havuk of the blood-crazed “God” and his carnival of death amongst the ice-fields five hundred miles to the northward. “Get dog-feed and grub together,” he ordered. “You and MacGregor will have to hit out for Home Bay and arrest this killer before this blood lust reaches the other camps. Once these Huskies go haywire there’s no knowing where it’s going to end. They'll be murdering each other all along the coast if we don’t step on this right now. And,” his grey eyes bored into McInnes,” “don’t come back till you’ve located Hec- tor Pitchford.” “It's sure going to be a tough trip,” growled MacGregor, as he overhauled walrus-hide dog-harness, while, without, the Arctic blasts seemed to scream with all the concentrated hate of the ages. “Why in blazes couldn’t that loco Huskie have waited till spring to pull this stuff?” McInnes shrugged. “Same old story. Got some wandering sky-pilot’s religion mixed up with Huskie witchcraft and gone all haywire. Better throw a coil of good stout rope on that komatik. We'll sure need it to get the sleds down those ruddy glaciers.” that had tried him to his very soul. Single- START PERILOUS JOURNEY From blizzard-lashed Pangnirtung, so beset with howling winds that even the roofs had been ripped from barrack build- ings, McInnes and MacGregor crunched up the rock-walled fjord on webbed snow- shoes while, in the rear, Eskimo drivers urged with caribou-hide lashes the dog- teams hauling heavy komatiks laden with frozen seal and caribou. Both knew that the route across that frozen ice-cap that tusked the star-spangled sky ahead was EIGHTEENTH EDITION scored with fissure-split glaciers and was beset with a thousand perils. A careless eye or foot would send them plunging down snow-bridged chasms to be smashed to boneless pulp on razor-like pinnacles of jagged ice a thousand feet below. Often the heavily laden komatiks be- came toys of biting winds that howled down from the Pole, sweeping them in a semi-circle as though by a giant broom, tangling traces, dragging panic-striken dogs on their backs in wild careening. At times, driving gales would tumble sleds completely over, picking up clouds of snow that hid the dogs and plugged their ears so that they couldn’t hear the commands of their drivers. Bewildered and ex- hausted from handling steel-shod sledges over knife-edged rocks bared by the ter- rific blasts they'd cower against the ground till driven on with whip and club. Sand-drifted ice, rough as emery paper, held sled runners like glue, while man and beast toiled together to move unwieldy loads. Around the oft-doused flame of a flickering spirit lamp they’d huddle in a hopeless effort to thaw frozen meat and bannock, unable to build a snowhouse for protection from the biting cold of sixty below and winds that howled their end- less refrain. Twice during their endless flight with frigid forces of an aroused Nature that thwarted them at every turn, their pas- sage was blocked by frozen waterfalls— a glassy drop of hundreds of feet of glist- ening bottle-green ice over which dogs, men and baggage had to be lowered with ropes, straining endurance to the limit. Their faces, slashed by knife-edged blasts, were bloody with open sores which wind-whipped sand and biting frost con- verted into festering cankers. Fur clo- thing froze into galling folds of iron from sweat, chafing legs and underarms till every movement was excruciating tor- ment. Like grey ghosts in a pall of white mist the Mounties mushed on, silent, weary, but invincible. Day succeeded day MEDICAL BUILDING GARAGE LTD. COMPLETE AUTOMOTIVE SERVICE 685 Hornby St. Phone: PA 5451 Vancouver, B.C. SIGURDSON MILLWORK COMPANY LIMITED Operating Western Canada’s Largest Modern Woodwork Factory ARCHITECTURAL WOODWORK SASH and DOORS 1275 West Sixth Ave. Vancouver, B. C. 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