"I ain't built to be frightened," he said, taking his time about
it. "I know your little games an' I've throwed a good many bluffs
of my own in my time. You're lyin' when you say you'll shoot, an'
you know you are. I may talk and I may not. Before I make up my
mind I'm going to give you a bit of brotherly advice. Take that
team out there and hit across the Barren--ALONE. Understand?
ALONE. Leave the girl here. It's your one chance of missing what
happened to--"

He grinned and shrugged his huge shoulders.

"You mean Anderson--Olaf Anderson--and the others up at Bathurst
Inlet?" questioned Philip chokingly.

Blake nodded.

Philip wondered if the other could hear the pounding of his heart.
He had discovered in this moment what the Department had been
trying to learn for two years. It was this man--Blake--who was
the mysterious white leader of the Kogmollocks, and responsible
for the growing criminal record of the natives along Coronation
Gulf. And he had just confessed himself the murderer of Olaf
Anderson! His finger trembled for an instant against the trigger
of his revolver. Then, staring into Blake's face, he slowly
lowered the weapon until it hung at his side. Blake's eyes gleamed
as he saw what he thought was his triumph.

"IT'S your one chance," he urged. "And there ain't no time to
lose."