“There is always a chance,” said Jack calmly. “Always a fighting chance so long as one has breath in his body. It is better to be moving toward a definite objective than to lie idle and wait for death.”
“Well, I guess you are right there,” said Boris. “But after we reach the railroad—if we do reach it—then what? If we are picked up we will probably be sent right back where we came from.”
“We won’t cross that bridge until we come to it,” returned Jack quietly. “Our first consideration is to reach the railroad.”
“If we could be so fortunate as to strike a road,” said Boris, “we might have a chance; but to go driving through the snow like this, blindly, we have no hope of getting there.”
“Do you suppose these horses have been over the road often enough to pick it out themselves?” asked Jack.
“I don’t know; you might try them.”
Jack gave the animals their head. Immediately they slowed down, and then the off horse began to pull toward the right. After some resistance the other followed him.
“He’s going some place,” said Jack hopefully.
“And we are going along,” replied Boris with a grim attempt at humor.
Half a mile ahead, having pulled the sleigh over steep piles of drifted snow, the horses again headed southward. The going was much easier. The ground ahead now showed signs of recent travel.