“I’m for keeping on,” Neil agreed, “if I can see to find the way.” His reddened eyelids were swollen almost shut. “How about you, Walter?”
When Walter had sunk down on the furs before the fire, he had not dreamed of traveling farther that day. If the question had been put to him then he would have answered no. But now that his feet were warm and he was fortified with food and hot tea, going on did not seem so impossible. He felt strangely anxious to reach Pembina. His thoughts, ever since morning, had been turning to the Periers. It was more than two months since he had heard from them. How had things been going with them? Surely there were letters awaiting him at the settlement. “Let’s go on by all means,” he replied to Neil’s question, “as far as we can. It won’t be so bad when the snow hardens and there isn’t any sun glare.”
Louis nodded. “We will rest till darkness comes. The wind has changed. It will soon be much colder, I think.”
There was no doubt that the weather was turning colder. Thawing had ceased with the setting of the sun, and the wind came from the northwest. By the time the journey was resumed, a crust had formed on the snow. The going was much easier, but the dogs were tired and footsore. Gray Wolf showed strong disinclination to pull. Askimé, however, did his best, and dragged his reluctant comrade along. The average half-breed driver would have lashed and beaten the weary beasts, but Louis used the whip sparingly. He pulled with them or encouraged them by running ahead.
In spite of weariness the travelers made good progress. After midnight they paused in a willow clump for another cup of hot tea, and then went on again. The night had turned bitterly cold, and there was no sheltered spot nearer than the banks of the Red River. The river was now only a few miles away, so they forced themselves and the reluctant dogs forward. There was no lack of light, for the moon was at the full in a clear sky. The surface of the snow was frozen so hard that no obscuring drift was carried before the wind. The waves of the prairie were motionless. The three boys and two dogs might have been at the north pole so alone were they. Except for their own voices and the slight noises of sled and snowshoes, as they sped forward over the crust, there was not a sound of living creature in a world of star-strewn sky and endless snow.
A brisk pace was necessary for warmth, and, in spite of their weariness, they kept it up. Reaching the woods bordering the river, they made their way among scattering, bare-limbed trees, creaking and clashing in the wind. In search of a sheltered camping ground, they descended a stretch of open slope to an almost level terrace about a third of the way down to the stream. And there they came upon the trail of human beings.
Stooping to examine the tracks, Louis gave a low whistle of amazement. “Ma foi, but this is strange! Those men had no snowshoes. Why should anyone travel without them at this time of year?”
“Do you see any sled marks?” queried Neil. His own eyes were hardly in condition to distinguish faint traces by moonlight.
“I find none. Even on the crust a tabagane would leave some marks. Those men without snowshoes broke through the crust.”
“Perhaps it is nothing but an animal trail,” Walter suggested.