"The worst'll soon be over," he reassured them. "Two days will get us to Big Lake, and once we finish that, we'll be well on our way."
So on they pushed, heavily laden, traveling slowly, but all well and sound in wind and limb.
It was the middle of October, when a bright sunny day beamed on them and their spirits rose in consequence.
But Joshua did not smile. "Weather breeder," he said, laconically, and looked gloomy.
The others knew better than to call him a pessimist, for when Joshua predicted weather, it came.
And come it did. Not a squall; there was little if any wind, but a snowfall. A steady, straight down snow that was so thick, so dense, they could scarce see one another's forms.
"Keep a-going," directed Joshua; "and for the land's sake, don't get far apart. Stay close together, single trail, and close!"
Thus they went on, the guide first, then Shelby, then Blair, then Peter. There was no reason for the order they took, it merely happened that it was so.
They kept close, as directed, but the going was hard. If one stumbled, one must recover quickly and hasten ahead not to lose sight of the others.
And the snow continued. Soft, white, feathery flakes, more and more thickly falling every moment. Joshua plowed ahead, the others followed, and each had all he could do to keep his eyes clear enough to see the man in front.