“We’re in for an all-night snow storm, I guess,” Dick observed, as the fire he was trying to start went out for a third time, and he had to enlist the aid of Toma.
“I’d like to sleep for a week,” said Sandy, from where he was trying to make the wounded officer more comfortable. “That falling snow is just like a bedtime story that really does put a fellow to sleep.”
They rolled into their sleeping bags as soon as they had appeased their appetites, not troubling to keep watch. All night the snow fell, and in the morning they awakened almost smothered with the wet drifts. The world was all fresh and white like a new blanket, but they had not taken ten steps before they knew they would make little progress that day.
“If a crust would only freeze over the snow we could get along faster,” Dick bewailed.
Corporal Richardson seemed a little better after the night’s rest. His fever had gone down and an examination of the wound showed it to be coming along as well as could be expected. He was very weak, however, from loss of blood.
“Where are we?” the officer asked Dick.
“About fifty miles north of Fort Dunwoody with only one dog,” Dick replied. “You were unconscious yesterday during the scrap we had with the same fellow who hit you.”
“Yes, I seemed to have had delirium,” replied the corporal. “I imagined I heard shooting.”
“Well, you didn’t need your imagination to hear that yesterday,” Dick assured him.
“It’ll be a wonder if you get through,” the officer said, “better leave me along the trail somewhere. There’s an abandoned cabin a few miles this side of Badge Lake. You’ll strike it if you follow the long ridge. Put me off there with some grub and then have Inspector Dawson send a man out after me.”