“We won’t starve for a couple of days, even if we don’t get a shot at any game,” Jack declared as he picked up the rope and yanked the toboggan around.
As nearly as they could estimate two miles an hour was the best they could do, but they consoled themselves with the thought that the man they were after was undoubtedly finding the traveling equally hard. They kept due north, laying their course by the sun until it was nearly over head, and then trusting to the bark and moss on the spruce trees, a bit of knowledge taught them by their Indian friend. All through the forenoon they kept sharp watch for game of any kind, but not a living thing showed itself.
At twelve o’clock they stopped long enough to build a small fire, over which they made coffee and warmed a can of vegetable soup.
“It’s all right as far as it goes,” Jack laughed, as he swallowed the last mouthful, “but the trouble is it goes such an awful little ways.”
“I say, Jack,” Bob began, as a sudden thought struck him, “it’s strange I didn’t think of it before, but do you know it’s more than likely that that pack of wolves got after Nip or whoever it is we’re trying to follow?”
“Let’s hope not,” Jack replied, after a moment’s thought. “If he had enough sense to climb a tree he’d be all right. Of course if they attacked him in the open it would be different, but it’s all woods around here. If it wasn’t, I tell you right now, I’d feel mighty shaky for fear they might come back.”
“Well, I hope you’re right, and I dare say you are,” Bob agreed as he took hold of the rope. “But we must be moving.”
The afternoon was a repetition of the forenoon: plowing steadily forward, foot by foot, their snow-shoes sinking deep in the light snow. The light toboggan fortunately did not greatly impede their progress, as it made but little impression in the snow, and they felt confident that, despite their slow advance, they were probably making as good as the man they were after, and they hoped better.
Shortly after four o’clock they came suddenly in sight of a good-sized lake.
“That must be Lake Chemouassa-Banticook,” Bob declared as he stopped. “And see, there’s a cabin a little to the right.”