Le Hibou and Le Bossu agreed by not contradicting, and the three made a rude shelter with the sledges and some spare blankets.
Le Hibou searched for his food-bag. “Bon Dieu!” he said, with white face, “Ah geeve to Tritou, v’en ve starrt yes’day, ma food, becaus’ hees sled ees mor’ leetle den mine, an’ Ah took hees blankets.”
The night before they had eaten of Dumois’s provisions, as his bag had been more accessible than that of either of the others, so this calamity had not been discovered. Dumois looked in his bag; there was little left. The entire party had intended to reach Les Petites Colignes in four days, and had taken just enough food per man to do it, as there was at that place a big cache of flour, tea, and six caribou carcasses. Le Bossu’s bag was still untouched, but it contained very little to feed three men and eighteen dogs for no one knew how long. They had plenty of blankets, and the mockery of it was terrible. They divided the food sparingly, and fed the dogs separately, a handful of dried meat to each.
Another night passed, and morning brought the same old story—snow, snow, snow, falling, dropping, tumbling in ceaseless, noiseless quantities. They stayed there all that day, and the food supply dwindled, even though they took but very little of it twice only in the twenty-four hours. On the fourth day of their captivity the food was all gone, and they drew lots to see who should kill one of his dogs; Dumois was drawn, and he cut the throat of one of his team, tears streaming down his face as he did so. “Blanchette, poor beas’! Ah’m désolé!” he said hoarsely.
And still it snowed. The surface of the barren was much higher than it had been. The cold was intense, and in desperation Le Hibou smashed his sledge, tore a blanket in slips, and made a fire; they husbanded the feeble flame with tender care; but it was out all too soon, and they shivered again in their covers.
Afternoon came, and the snow relaxed somewhat. The men, weak from lack of food and almost numb, were about to smash up another sledge, when suddenly, without a sound of any kind, a figure stood before them. It was a tall, gaunt figure with curious wide snow-shoes on its feet. The face was muffled entirely, only the gray eyes showing. As the three stared in wonderment, half believing it a myth, the figure spoke:
“You los’, n’est-ce pas? Comme weet me!”
“Who ees?” whispered Le Bossu.
“Ah don’ know!” answered Dumois, with awe in his voice.
The stranger helped them gather the dogs together and fasten their belongings on the two sledges that were left. “Viens!” he said, when all was ready, and started off on what seemed to the lost men their back trail. This strange being exerted a curious power over them: he did not speak, but they felt security in his presence. They staggered on, he helping first one, then the other, digging out the sledges when they sank in the drifts and coaxing on the dogs by soft noises in his throat which they seemed to know.