“That’s so,” put in Sully, eagerly. “One of you stay, and leave some of the grub behind.”
The matter was talked over a few minutes longer, and then it was decided that this plan should be followed.
A cent was tossed up to see who should undertake the immediate return to the camp on the creek, and the lot fell to Harry. He left all the game behind but two of the wild turkeys, and five minutes later had disappeared in the swirling snow beyond the shelter of the cliff.
CHAPTER XXXII.
LAST OF THE WILDCAT.
Harry knew that he had no easy task before him, yet he started out with a brave heart, resolved to cover the distance to the camp as quickly as possible.
Knowing how great was the force of the wind, he buttoned his overcoat tightly about him and strapped his game-bag and gun to his person in such a way that they could not be lost, no matter how many tumbles and plunges in the immense snowdrifts were taken.
“If I move right along I ought to strike camp by seven or half-past,” he murmured to himself, as he struck out for the creek. “Ugh! but this is beastly!”
The first blast around the edge of the shelter nearly threw him flat on his back, so strong was it. The hard snow was dashed into his face as if it was sand thrown by a shovel in the hands of a laborer. He gasped in spite of himself.
“It’s getting wilder instead of moderating,” he thought. “This must be something like a Western blizzard. How bleak and desolate it looks on all sides!”
Fortunately, Harry found a streak of land almost clear of snow, and stretching away toward where the creek ran. Along this stretch he now pursued his course, stopping only occasionally, to catch his breath and prepare for the coming of an extra-heavy blast.