They made camp as well as they could. No wood was to be seen, and they did not dare search for any, as the snow fell so thickly that a man could easily be lost fifty feet from the others. They ate a cold, cheerless meal, and having fed the dogs from their supply, they pulled their blankets about them and slept. All night the white flakes came and spread themselves thickly over everything; the wind blew dismally; and the dogs huddled as close together as they could.
In the morning Dumois climbed up on the hill. As far as he could see through the infolding shrouds of snow was a bleak, strange country; no sign, no shadowy suspicion of forest anywhere. He went down and told the others.
“V’ere you t’ink ve go?” asked Le Hibou.
Dumois and Le Bossu thought, and drew lines on the snow with their fingers; then Le Bossu said, “Par là!” pointing to the right.
“Non, par ici—dees vay!” said Dumois, pointing to the left.
Le Hibou looked at their lines on the snow chart, and drew some of his own. “En avant!” was his decision after he had finished his calculations.
“Non, by gar! Ah no vant die los’!” shouted Dumois. “Ah go mon chemin!”
He fastened his dogs to his sledge, and the others imitated him mechanically; then the three started off to the left. On and on they went, over hills and down ravines, up clefts in the snow gorges, and across wind-swept barrens; and always the snow came and covered their tracks as fast as they made them.
They did not even stop for food; the snow grew deeper and heavier; it clogged their way, piled itself on their snow-shoes, and heaped in soggy masses in front of the sledges; the dogs gave up one by one, exhausted.
“Impossible!” said Dumois, after trying valiantly to drag the dogs and sledge too by his own strength. “Ve res’ teel la neige she stop, hein?” he suggested.