The marks he chose and passed seemed innumerable, but the wilderness still ran on, pitilessly empty, in front of him. His leg was horribly painful, he knew he must break down soon, and they had seen nothing of a stony rise they were looking for. To find it would simplify matters, because the Indian had made them understand that the bluffs about the post lay nearly east of it.
Noon passed and they still pressed forward without a halt, for there was little more than three hours' daylight left, and it was unthinkable that they should spend the night without food or shelter. The horizon steadily narrowed as the snow thickened; there was a risk of their passing the guiding-marks or even the factory.
It was nearly three o'clock when Harding stumbled and falling into the snow found himself unable to get up until Benson helped him. In his attempt to rise he further strained his weakened leg and for a moment or two he leaned on his companion, his face contorted with pain.
"The fall seems to have hurt you," Benson said sympathetically.
"I'll have to go on," Harding gasped and, setting his teeth, strode forward, made a few paces with horrible pain, and then sank down on his knees.
The others stopped in consternation and Blake said, "If I've kept the right line, we can't be far from the factory."
"I'm played out," said Harding. "You'll have to leave me here. If you make the post, you can come back with a sledge."
"No," Blake answered shortly. "How are we to find you with our trail drifting up? Besides, you'd be frozen in a few hours. If you can't walk, you'll have to be carried. Get hold of him, Benson."
Benson lifted him to his feet, Blake seized his arm, and, both supporting him, they resumed the march. Leaning on them heavily, Harding was dragged along, and they silenced the feeble protests he made now and then.
"Stop talking that rot! We see this out together," Blake told him roughly.