“Snow-glasses. Have you got some with you?” asked Tom.
Old Joe shook his head.
“Non. But I get some vitement. Very quickly.”
“Are we near to a store, then?” asked Jack.
“No, Otter Creek is twenty miles away.”
“Then I don’t see——”
“One second, mon ami. You shall see. Old Joe live long in the woods. He can do many teeng. You watch.”
Near the trail they were still following with the same pertinacity stood a white birch clump. Old Joe called a halt, and with his knife stripped off a big slice of bark from one of them. This he fashioned into a kind of mask. But instead of cutting the eye-holes all round, he left part to stick out like shelves under the orifices. These were to prevent the light being reflected from the snow directly into Jack’s eyes. A bit of beaver skin from the load formed a string to tie the odd-looking contrivance on, and from that moment Jack was not bothered with his eyes.
“In wilderness men do widout many teengs; except what dey make for demself,” quoth old Joe, as they took up the trail once more.
Soon after noon they stopped to eat. It was a hasty meal, for they felt that they could ill afford to waste any of the daylight. Then on again they went, old Joe urging his dogs along remorselessly.