"Hold on!" he cried. "I'm not toughened up to your mark yet."
Andrew was glad to wait for him, though the frost bit keenly when he stopped and he was anxious to finish the long day's march. The ranks of stunted pines looked inexpressibly dreary looming out of the darkness, and, fatigued as he was, the savagery of the surrounding desolation oppressed him. They would reach warmth and shelter in another hour, but when they went on again Andrew thought with a heavy heart of the leagues of travel through the grim solitudes of the frozen North. Up there, their only resting-place would be a hollow behind a rock or a trench scooped out of the snow. Still, he was not daunted. He had undertaken a big thing, and he meant to carry it out.
At last a twinkle of light showed among the trees, and when they approached one of the shacks at the mine the door opened and a dark figure appeared against the brightness of the interior.
"Is that you, Watson?" Andrew asked. "Has Mappin sent up some provisions for us?"
"Nothing has turned up lately except some tools," Watson answered. "But come right in."
They entered the shack, which for the first few minutes felt intolerably hot.
"Did those tools come in cases with a Toronto freight tag?" Carnally asked.
"They did," said Watson.
Carnally looked at Andrew.
"That's what misled me. I found out the cases had left the Landing and thought they held our truck. What I wasn't sure about was whether they'd reach here."