The storm had increased in fury since Walter's early visit. It was now blowing a living gale, and the snow was so thick one could scarce breathe in it. The trail lay directly in the teeth of the storm. No dogs on earth could face and stem it and certainly not the picked up, or "scratch" team as Walter called it, for strange dogs never work well together, and will never do their best by any means for a strange driver, and Walter had never driven any of these except his own four.
With visions of the suffering woman whose life might depend upon his presence, the Doctor chafed the forenoon through. Then at midday came another telegram:
"Come immediately if you can. Wife still holding out."
He had but just read this telegram when, to his astonishment, two snow-enveloped, bedraggled men limped up to the door.
"Where did you come from in this storm?" he asked, hardly believing his eyes that men could travel in that drift and gale.
"We comes from Cape Norman, sir, to fetch you," answered one of the men.
"Fetch me!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Do you believe dogs can travel against this gale?"
"No, sir, they never could stem it, not 'till the wind shifts, whatever," said the man. "Us comes with un drivin' from behind. The gale blows us here."
That was literally true. Ten miles of their journey had been over partially protected land, but for twenty miles it lay over unobstructed sea ice where the gale blew with all its force. Only the deep snow prevented them being carried at a pace that would have wrecked their sledge, in which case they would certainly have perished.
"When did you leave Cape Norman?" asked the Doctor.