None of them had much doubt as to what the end would be, but they stubbornly held on. Nothing further was said; Blake and Benson's pinched faces were set and stern and Harding's drawn up in a ghastly fashion by suffering. Still, their overtaxed muscles somehow obeyed the relentless call on them.
At length, when the light had almost gone, Benson stepped into a slight depression that slanted across their path.
"Hold on!" he cried hoarsely. "Look at this!"
Blake stooped while Harding, swaying awkwardly with bent leg, held on to him. The hollow was small, a smooth groove of slightly lower level than the rest of the snow.
"A sledge trail!" he said in an exultant voice. "Drifted up a bit, but they've been hauling lumber over it and that means a good deal to us." He indicated a shallow furrow a foot or two outside the groove. "That's been made by the butt of a trailing log. The Indian said there were bluffs near the post and they wouldn't haul their cordwood farther than necessary."
Then they were silent for a few moments, overcome by relief. They had now a guide to shelter and safety, but when they had gathered breath Blake steadied Harding, who found standing difficult, with his arm.
"We must make a move and hustle all we can," he said. "It will be dark in half an hour and the snow won't take long in filling up the trail."
The risk of missing the factory, which might be close at hand, was not to be faced, and they pulled themselves together for a last effort; Blake and Benson breathing hard as they dragged Harding along. The light was rapidly going, now they had changed their course the snow lashed their faces, making it difficult to see, and they plodded forward with lowered heads and eyes fixed on the guiding-line. It grew faint in places and vanished altogether after a while. Then they stopped in dismay, and Blake went down upon his knees scraping with ragged mittens in the snow.
"I can't see which way it runs, but it certainly doesn't end here," he said. "Go ahead and look for it, Benson, but don't get out of call."
Benson moved forward and when he faded into the cloud of driving flakes those he left behind were conscious of a keen uneasiness. They could only see a few yards, it was blowing fresh and the wind might carry their voices away, while if this happened the chances were against their comrade's being able to rejoin them. By and by Blake shouted and the answer was reassuring. They waited for a time and then when they cried out a hail came back very faintly: "Nothing yet!"