I set eagerly to work. I bound hoops together closely and braced them; I cut bearskin into strips, well twisted them, laced them across and across as well as I could remember they were laced in proper ones; I used some wire we had to strengthen them; and in the course of some days' close labour I had constructed a pair of very rough but, as I soon proved, serviceable snow-shoes.
With these I practised walking. Most days Patch and I took tramps up and down the creek, and I very soon became dexterous in their use: besides, I knew it was necessary for me to take plenty of exercise to knit myself together, to train for my contemplated expedition.
Now I turned my attention to the construction of a sled—a sledge. The one I had begun I had not seen for weeks,—it was buried under many a foot of snow. I searched, and at last dug it out; it was, I could see, unsuitable. I realised that I must make a sort of toboggan—something to lie flat upon the snow, that would not cut into it as sled-runners would.
No wood suitable for this purpose grew about there. I passed many hours in the bright moonlight, searching the immediate neighbourhood; but they were all rough trees, and would not answer. I was perplexed, puzzled, till I thought of the sluice-boxes, and on one of them I set to work, and with the few tools I had I managed to make what I felt sure would do. But every day or night Patch and I took marches up and down the creek; sometimes these trips extended for miles.
I knew too that I must carry with me some sort of arrangement for sleeping in, and contrive a portable shelter, as I had torn up the little tent for bandages for Meade. The former—the sleeping-bag—I made of what remained of the bear-skins, to which I joined deer-skins, and I lined it with fox, silver-grey and black, of which I had quite a number. The tent I made up of what remained, with some blankets and such materials. I had already contrived additional warm clothing of fur and blankets, with a hood or capote.
With all this business the days passed quickly and, may I say, hopefully.
Just then a great need assailed me. I had run out of lamp oil, and the candles had long since been used up. I tried to work by firelight, but that was very difficult. Then I bethought me of the lumps of bear fat hanging in the trees, and I brought some in, and with an empty meat tin and a piece of rag I made a very successful lamp, and that difficulty was surmounted.
My sled, or toboggan, was ready. My snow-shoes answered well. I had made alterations and improvements in them as I had gained experience, and I was now able to get about on them with speed and comfort.
It was towards the end of January, according to my calculations, and I began to reckon eagerly of making a start.
The wretchedness, the inexpressible loneliness of this time, was really awful. At times I was half beside myself with horror, and I suppose I acted like a half-crazed being often. I used to talk to Patch, to address him as if he were a human being, and the dear old dog would put his head on one side, prick up his ears and listen to me, and I do believe he tried his best to understand what I said to him. What I should have done without that dear old fellow I cannot imagine.