Old Joe shook his head.
“Zee snow, he soft. Dat plenty bad. Snow soften, rocks loosen. Bimeby maybe, one beeg rock come toomble down.”
“Gracious, one of those big fellows up there?” And Tom’s eyes roved upward to where huge black rocks, shaped in some instances like monstrous animals, could be seen sticking out of the snow field.
“Yes; eef no watch, one of dem might heet us when zee soft snow loosens zee earth,” declared Joe, without any more concern in his voice than if he were speaking of what they would have for supper.
“Well, if one of those ever struck this outfit, it would be the last of it,” declared Tom, alarmed at the prospect.
“Weezout doubt,” rejoined old Joe, with a shrug of his shoulders, “but for dat we moost watch all zee time. Dat ees zee law of zee north, to watch always.”
CHAPTER XXXI—A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.
“To watch always!”
Old Joe’s words echoed in Tom’s mind. Yes, that was the law of the northland, and in some parts of it all the law that there was. Constant watchfulness was necessary to life itself in the frozen regions.
Tom’s cheeks flushed as he thought that if constant watchfulness had been observed at Camp Yukon Rover there would have been no necessity for their journey and all that it had led to.