When day broke it was long past the usual hour, and the cloud of driving flakes obscured even the spruces a few yards away. The hollow at the foot of the crag was shadowy, and the snow had piled up several feet above the bank, and lapped over at one end. Still, with wood enough, they could keep warm, and had their supplies been larger they would have been content to rest. As things were, however, they were confronted with perhaps the gravest peril that threatens the traveller in the North—they might be detained by bad weather until their food ran out. None of them spoke of this, but by tacit agreement they made a very sparing breakfast and ate nothing at noon. When night came and the storm still raged, their hearts were very heavy.
It lasted three days, and on the fourth morning it seemed scarcely possible to face the somewhat lighter wind and break a trail through the fresh snow. They, however, dare risk no further delay, and strapping on their packs struggled up the range. At nightfall they were high among the rocks, and it was piercingly cold, but they got a few hours' sleep in a clump of junipers and struck the valley late next day. Finding shelter, they made camp and after dividing a small bannock between them sat talking gloomily. Their fire had been lighted to lee of a cluster of willows and burned sulkily because the wood was green. Pungent smoke curled about them, and they shivered in the draughts.
"How far do you make it to the logging camp?" Benson asked. "I'm taking it for granted that the lumber gang's still there."
"A hundred and sixty miles," said Blake.
"And we have food enough for two days; say forty miles."
"About that; it depends upon the snow."
Benson made no answer, and Harding was silent a while, sitting very still with knitted brows. Then he said, "I can't see any way out. Can you?"
"Well," said Blake quietly, "we'll go on as long as we are able. Though I haven't had a rosy time, I've faith in my luck."
Conversation languished after this, but they had a small cake of tobacco left, and sat smoking and hiding their fears while the wind moaned among the willows and thin snow blew past. The camp was exposed and hungry and dejected, as they were, they felt the stinging cold. After an hour of moody silence, Harding suddenly leaned forward, with a lifted hand.
"What's that?" he said sharply. "Didn't you hear it?"