It cost them some labor, and when they reached the summit they stopped to look for the easiest road. Ahead, as far as they could see, small, ragged pines grew among the rocks, and breaks in the uneven surface hinted at troublesome ravines.
"It looks rough," said Benson. "There's rather a high ridge yonder.
It might save trouble to work round its end. What do you think?"
"When I'm not sure," Harding replied, "I mean to go straight south."
Benson gave him an understanding nod.
"You have better reasons for getting back than the rest of us; though I've no particular wish to loiter up here. Break the trail, Blake; due south by compass!"
They plunged deeper into the broken belt, clambering down ravines, crossing frozen lakes and snowy creeks. Indeed, they were thankful when a strip of level surface indicated water, for the toil of getting through the timber was heavy.
After two days of travel there was a yellow sunset, and the snow gleamed in the lurid light with an ominous brilliance, while as they made their fire a moaning wind got up. These things presaged a change in the weather, and they were rather silent over the evening meal. They missed the half-breed and the snarling dogs, and it looked as if the good fortune that had so far attended them were coming to an end.
The next morning there was a low, brooding sky, and at noon snow began to fall, but they kept on until evening over very rough ground, and then they held a council round the fire.
"The situation requires some thought," Blake said. "First of all, our provisions won't carry us through the timber belt. Now, the shortest course to the prairie, where the going will be easier, is due south; but after we get there we'll have a long march to the settlements. I'd partly counted on our killing a caribou, or perhaps a moose, but so far we've seen no tracks."
"There must be some smaller animals that the Indians eat," Benson suggested.