A hundred yards away he discerned a second team following in his trail; he saw a shadowy figure running at the head of the dogs, but what there was on the sledge, or what it meant, he could not see or surmise.

Mile after mile the two sledges continued without a stop.

Croisset did not turn his head; no word fell from his lips, except an occasional signal to the dogs.

The trail had turned now straight into the North, and soon Howland could make out no sign of it, but knew only that they were twisting through the most open places in the forests, and that the play of the Polar lights was never over his left shoulder or his right, but always in his face.
They had traveled for several hours when Croisset gave a sudden shrill shout to the rearmost sledge and halted his own.

The dogs fell in a panting group on the snow, and while they were resting the half-breed relieved his prisoner of the soft buckskin that had been used as a gag.
"It will be perfectly safe for you to talk now, M'seur, and to shout as loudly as you please," he said.