They hitched the team and pushed on. In the absence of a trail, the best they could do was to keep to the river ice. By-and-bye:
"Can you see the river bank?"
"I'm not sure," said the Boy.
"I thought you were going it blind."
"I believe I'd better let Nig have his head," said the Boy, stopping; "he's the dandy trail-finder. Nig, old man, I takes off my hat to you!"
They pushed ahead till the half-famished dogs gave out. They camped under the lee of the propped sled, and slept the sleep of exhaustion.
The next morning dawned clear and warm. The Colonel managed to get a little wood and started a fire. There were a few spoonfuls of meal in the bottom of the bag and a little end of bacon, mostly rind. The sort of soup the dogs had had yesterday was good enough for men to-day. The hot and watery brew gave them strength enough to strike camp and move on. The elder man began to say to himself that he would sell his life dearly. He looked at the dogs a good deal, and then would look at the Boy, but he could never catch his eye. At last: "They say, you know, that men in our fix have sometimes had to sacrifice a dog."
"Ugh!" The Boy's face expressed nausea at the thought.
"Yes, it is pretty revolting."
"We could never do it."