“Lord love you!” cried honest Mac. “I wadna’ touch them wi’ the tae o’ ma beet (toe of my boot).”
Another week passed away, and so wearily, for there were no signs of the return of the wanderers.
The weather began now to get most inclement, and so it was resolved to remove everything into the cave they had so providentially discovered. This took some time.
But though there was ample room for even the bears, neither they nor the Yak dogs would enter. They preferred the old camp and the snow.
“I dinna wonder,” said Mac, “at their no likin’ to come in here, for, gweed save us, doctor, it looks an awfu’ uncanny place.”
Another week of weary suspense, then, one morning, in rushed Slap-dash himself. He could only say hurriedly that the sledge team was within five miles, but dogs and men were too exhausted to come further.
* * * * *
Curtis and Ingomar were brought in that forenoon. The meeting was a very joyful one, although Dr. Wright at once forbade all talking for the time being.
He then put them all on the sick list, and in three days’ time they were able to talk, though but feebly, and tell of their sufferings and dangers. How, when they could not have been more than two days’ journey from the camp, they were overwhelmed by a sudden and fearful storm in which one dog was killed. How nearly all the meagre remainder of biscuits was destroyed, how they struggled on and on, too weak, almost, to wish to live, the poor dogs lying down almost at every mile, for their feet were swollen and bleeding, and even when they did move, it was with listless, hanging heads, for they seemed to have abandoned all hope. How they (Curtis and Ingomar) took to their snow-shoes, although their limbs were hot and swollen, and their faces blistered. How they lost the road, for the photographs were now of no use, and at last lay down among the dogs to die.
Oh, it was a pitiful story, but a record of sufferings borne manfully and uncomplainingly, for they had done their best, and were leaving the rest to God.