The snow was three feet deeper than the day before, and the going was therefore much worse; the advance of the party was a slow and laborious one, the dogs sinking in to their bellies and floundering helplessly about, so that the men had to take hold of the traces and pull in order to move ahead at all.
“Sacré-é misère!” said Le Hibou, as he straightened up from the work and passed a rough sleeve over his face, “dat harrrd travaille!”
“Ai-hai!” answered the rest.
The day grew warmer as they proceeded, and it was hot work on the open barrens, where the sun shone with arctic brilliancy on the swearing, sweating crowd.
“Vone t’ing ees good,” said Le Bossu as they all stopped for a breathing spell: “dere veel be vone stronge crrus’ to-night. Ve go h’all dark taime, and res’ to-mor’; vat you t’ink, vous autres, hein?”
“Hmm, toi Bossu! Vat you t’ink? Ve goin’ vorrk h’all day, h’all nuit? Nevaire!” said Tritou.
“B’en, h’all sam’ to me! Ah goin’ sauf mes dog’; go h’on ze crrus’ to-night, and res’ v’en ze sonne she ees so warm. ’Ou go veet’ me?” concluded Le Bossu.
“Ah go, Bossu,” answered Le Hibou.
“Moi aussi,” agreed another of the trappers, Dumois by name.
“Bon! Ve show to youse ow to go fas’ la nuit,” laughed Le Bossu.