The two boys occupied the rear sled with one of the bundles, while Gus Schmidt did the driving from the other sled and carried the rest of the traps. On and on they went, mile after mile, the German driving the dogs with great skill. They passed over hill after hill, and over vast expanses of ice and snow. At noon they rested half an hour for lunch. Tom tried to stand up, but was too weak.
"It's no use, Dick," he said. "I'm about as strong as a bowl of mush! I guess I need about a month's rest."
"And you are going to get it, Tom, as soon as we can get home," replied his brother.
"But I don't understand how I got here," went on the sufferer, in perplexity.
"I'll tell you all about it some day, Tom. But now you must keep quiet. Won't you, just to please me?"
"Sure—anything you say, Dick. I know something is wrong somewhere. But I'll leave it all to you."
Late that evening they reached the Riss River, a small stream flowing into the mighty Yukon. They passed along the river bank until they reached a settlement known as Boyer's. Here they found Sam and the others of the expedition.
"So yer got Tom!" cried Jack Wumble. "Good enough!"
"And how is he?'" questioned Sam, anxiously.
"He's been hurt, Sam. But I think he is brighter in his mind than ever," answered Dick.