Off to his right a faint glow suffused the east. In another hour, if the wolves really were gone, they might continue their slow progress, and, barring emergencies, might reasonably expect to arrive at the mounted police barracks in about three days.
With the first grin in hours brightening his face, Dick set about preparing breakfast. He had a frying pan over the fire and was melting snow for coffee. It was so quiet around him that he imagined he could hear the low, irregular breathing of Corporal Richardson. Then, presently Toma stirred, stretched out one arm and yawned:
“Guess I get up,” the guide announced.
“When you do,” Dick replied, “I wish you’d go over and wake Sandy. I’ve kept his watch for him, and if I wasn’t so busy getting breakfast I’d go over myself.”
Dick was adding coffee to the boiling water when Toma returned.
“Well, did you wake him?”
The half breed endeavored to speak, but no sound came from his trembling lips.
“What’s wrong?” Dick inquired, trying to be calm.
“Sandy, him gone!”
“Gone!” Dick’s heart took a sickening plunge.