“My God!” cried Sir David—“seven miles of this!”
“Oh, courage, man! There is no hope but to keep going!”
For long they marked their bearings pretty well. Then, looking over his shoulder, Tuke uttered an exclamation and stopped.
“Dennis!” he yelled, for the man had disappeared.
He ran back in their fast-vanishing tracks—stumbled over the fallen body.
“Up!” he shrieked—“don’t give in like this!”
The poor fellow begged to be allowed to sleep—just forty winks, he said.
“Forty winking devils!” shouted his master.
He had him up and on in a moment—placed him between himself and Sir David. Thenceforward the three held together, swaying and struggling. The wiry soldier could take and keep his own measure of endurance.
But now, confused by the temporary delay, they fell doubtful in their landmarks, wavered, and woke to the knowledge that they were lost. Dennis, who alone of them knew something of the road, was fallen into a state of semi-stupefaction and could scarce speak coherently. Indeed, it was all one for that, for the prospect was quite blotted out in the mist of twinkling flakes; and to keep the wind at their backs was become their only guide.