Sinister Trail of

the Fatal Foxes

*

Captain Janes, of the flaming hair, came to the

By frozen North to garner a fortune in white foxes.
PHILIP H. GODSELL Instead, he reaped a harvest of hatred; sending a lone
ELR.G.S. Mountte to the roof of the world on the blizzard-

blasted trail of an Arctic killer.

*

skipper the two-masted Kite

dodged the floating ice-pans
and mountains of bergs of greenish
crystal which heaved lazily to the
gentle surge of the Polar Sea. To the
westward the midnight sun brushed
the burnished glaciers of ice-girt
Baffin Land in a blaze of golden glory

[| aes the skilful hand of her

= =)

and commenced slowly to circle the
sky again. Playful porpoise flashed
whitely against the salty waves.

“There ye are!” There was excite-
ment in the gaunt gaze of the short,
thickset man with the ragged mop of
flaming hair, the hawk-like visage,
and the deepset blue eyes shadowed
by a battered nautical cap. “See them

skin tupeks (tents) along the shore
there? That’s Pond’s Inlet—an’ them’s
the northernmost Eskimos in the
Arctic. That’s where ye’ll unload.
That’s where I am to build my tradin’
post.”

“Jen,” as the Eskimos called red-
headed Captain Robert Janes, had
first espied the rugged cliffs of un-

Iglulik Eskimos welcomed the advent of the white Kood-loo-nahs — but they brought nothing but sorrow and disillusionment.

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