The superintendent's rifle hung at his back, and Harry had a good revolver; but they prayed in their hearts that they might have no occasion to use them.
Every little while they had to pause that the boy might take a brief rest. Then on they went again.
Mile after mile of the dreary, toilsome way was slowly yet steadily overcome, each one adding to poor Harry's weariness, until he felt as if he must give up the struggle and throw himself down in the snow to die.
But Mr. Maynard cheered him up and helped him, and kept him going, knowing well that to give up really meant death.
At last the exhausted boy sank down with a piteous wail,—
"It's no use, Mr. Maynard, I can't take another step."
"Oh yes, you can, Harry!" said the superintendent soothingly; "just take a little rest, and then you'll be all right."
While Harry rested he went on ahead a short distance, for it seemed to him that they could not be very far from the depot.
Presently there came from him a glad hurrah, and running back he put his arm around his companion, and helped him to his feet, exclaiming joyfully,—
"I can see a light, Harry. We're safe now. It's the depot."