Chapter Thirty Six.
By the skin of his teeth.
Aided by Scruff, a fairly correct line was made for the forsaken sledge, the dog seeming to know exactly what was wanted, and preventing them from over-running the spot where it had been left.
This was the only thing they dreaded, for the track was—through not being beaten—almost obliterated again and again by falls of snow; but it was tolerably familiar now, the winding creek and the edge of the scrubby forest forming pretty good guides.
It was still very dark when they reached the place, Scruff uttering a low snuffling whine; but it was not easy to find a small object like a briar wood pipe.
“Must have been somewhere here I dropped it,” said Tregelly. “If it was daylight I should see it directly on the white snow. Better light the lantern, I suppose.”
“It would be like inviting a shot from Redbeard if he is near.”
“Think so, my son?” said Tregelly thoughtfully.
“He would be almost sure to make for his old lair.”
“My old lair, you mean, my son.”