They were all on snow-shoes, following swiftly over the trail of the fugitives.
The young hunter looked at his watch again.

Twenty-five minutes had passed.

Mukoki and Wabigoon had secured a good start.

If he could only hold the outlaws in the valley for a quarter of an hour more--just fifteen short minutes--they would almost have reached the entrance into the chasm.
Alone, with his own life and those of his comrades depending upon him, the boy was cool.

There was no tremble in his hands to destroy the accuracy of his rifle-fire, no blurring excitement or fear in his brain to trouble his judgment of distance and range.