“Ah t’ink heet goin’ snow encore,” suggested Le Bossu.
It looked as though it might; the sun had grown dim and misty, and the air was raw and chill. Huge masses of wet snow dropped continually from the trees—usually the sign of a coming storm. The atmosphere was thick and oppressive to the lungs, and the dogs were greatly distressed by it.
As the actual fall of snow did not come, the Indians hastened on, anxious to get as far as possible on their way before they would have to stop for the night.
The sky soon became dark, and twilight was very short; the men selected a sheltered ravine in which to spend the night, and the dogs were unharnessed from the sledges. They quickly dug holes for themselves, two or three in a hole, and curled down in them, leaving their furry backs showing over the surface. The trappers drew the sledges together and banked snow between them, forming an efficient wind-shield; then a big pile of wood was gathered and lighted. The glare of the flames reflected warm on their faces, and the long shadows kept up a merry dance as the men moved to and fro; the tree trunks stood out clear and strong in the ruddy light, and their branches seemed woven into a network of dark green that covered everything and shut out the dull, leaden skies.
Tea was soon ready in a lot of pannikins and kettles, and each man ate his supper with relish, for an all-day tramp on “breaking” snow was no easy work. The meal finished, they pulled out blankets from the bags, rolled themselves up, and in a little while everything was still, except the fire, which kept up its cheery crackling and popping. It had burned down nearly two feet, and the snow-water began to choke out its enthusiasm, when a big chunk, undermined by the heat, caved in, quenching it entirely with a loud hiss and splutter.
“Ugh-h! Ver’ col’!” said Tritou, with a shiver, as he sat up about midnight and drew his blankets closer round him. “Heet snow, by diable! Dat too bad!” he added to himself, when he saw the ghostly flakes dropping; then he went to sleep again.
“H’up, you mans!” called Le Hibou to the sleeping forms just as the first gray light crept through the spruce branches. They moved and grumbled.
“Sacré! she mak’ vone beeg lot snow las’ nuit!” said Le Bossu as he got up and yawned prodigiously. There had, indeed, been a heavy snowfall; the place where the fire had been was filled up smooth and white, and a big circular mound showed the location of the sledges. The dogs had kept themselves open to the air by throwing off the accumulating snow as it fell, and the sides of their nests were piled up like fox burrows.
“Dam’!” said Le Grand as a lump of snow fell into his tea from a branch overhead, splashing him with the steaming drink.
Breakfast over, they dug out the sledges, sorted the teams, harnessed them, and started off.