This confidence proved well placed; for that single cry was all that reached their ears. They slept, and were not molested.
But sometime during the night the fine snow began sifting downward, falling so gently that even the Esquimau was not disturbed. Through the long gloomy hours it silently descended, until when the daylight stole over the desolate plain, fully six inches had been added to the mass that covered the earth long before.
Sitting nearly upright and back to back, the pressure upon the sleepers was so slight and gradual that no discomfort resulted. All were so worn out that their slumber was profound, doubtless lasting as long as it would have done had no such snowfall taken place.
It was Jack Cosgrove who first opened his eyes, and his amazement may be imagined when he saw their laps buried out of sight, only the outlines of their limbs showing, while head and shoulders were weighted down with the feathery mass.
"By the great horned spoon!" he called, shaking himself free and rising to his feet, with such a flurry that the others were aroused; "wake up, for we're all snowed under, and, if we wait a few minutes longer, we'll be buried clean out of sight."
"What's the matter?" called Rob, being the next to climb to his feet; "has the snow tumbled in on us?"
"Yes; and more of it is tumbling every minute."
Docak was astonished that he had not been the first to awake, for his mind was burdened with anxiety for the rest. He forgot that, inasmuch as his labors had been far greater than theirs, his weariness of body was in more need of rest.
"What time be it?" he asked of the boys, who carried watches.
The answer showed that day had dawned more than two hours before. He sighed at the knowledge of the precious time wasted. Harder work than ever was before them, and when night came again they might count themselves fortunate if one-half the remaining distance was accomplished.