The trail ahead of them was level
and hard again. Uppy knew they were on the edge of the big barren of the
Lacs Delesse, and he cracked his whip just as the off runner of the
sledge struck a hidden snow-blister. There was a sudden lurch, and in a
vicious up-shoot of the gee-bar the revolver was knocked from Dolores'
hand--and was gone. A shriek rose to her lips, but she stifled it before
it was given voice. Until this minute she had not felt the terror of
utter hopelessness upon her. Now it made her faint. The revolver had not
only given her hope, but also a steadfast faith in herself. From the
beginning she had made up her mind how she would use it in the end, even
though a few moments before she had asked Peter what they would do.
Crumpled down on the sledge, she clung to Peter, and suddenly the
inspiration came to her not to let him know what had happened. Her arms
tightened about his shoulders, and she looked ahead over the backs of the
wolfish pack, shivering as she thought of what Uppy would do could he
guess her loss. But he was running now for his life, driven on by his
fear of her unerring marksmanship--and Wapi. She looked over her
shoulder. Wapi was there, a huge gray shadow twenty paces behind. And she
thought she heard a shout!
Peter was speaking to her. "Blake's dogs are tired," he was saying. "They
were just about to camp, and ours have had a rest. Perhaps--"
"We shall beat them!" she interrupted him.
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