The men watched the heavy clouds in the northeast rise and swiftly spread.
"Sure, it looks bad," muttered one.
"Make haste with the sculpin'," Bill ordered. "They's wonderful heavy weather comin' up. I mind me a time when a blizzard come out of a sky like that."
The dusk grew deeper, the snow fell thicker, the wind rose; and all this Bill observed while he worked. Groups of men lashed their tows and started off for the edge of the floe where the steamer was to return for them.
"Lash your tows, b'ys," shouted Bill, to the rest of the men. "Leave the rest go. 'Tis too late t' sculp any more."
There was some complaint; but Bill silenced the growlers with a sharp word or two. The whole party set off in a straggling line, dragging their tows; it was Bill who brought up the rear, for he wanted to make sure that his company would come entire to the landing-place. Strong, stinging blasts of wind were then sweeping out of the northeast, and the snow was fast narrowing the view.
"Faster, b'ys!" cried Bill. "The storm's comin' wonderful quick."
The storm came faster than, with all his experience, Bill o' Burnt Bay had before believed possible. When he had given the order to abandon the unskinned seals, he thought that there was time and to spare; but, now, with less than half the distance to the landing-place covered, the men were already staggering, the wind was blowing a gale, and the blinding snow almost hid the flags at the water's edge. When he realized this, and that the ship was not yet in sight, "Drop everything, an' run for it!" was the order he sent up the line.
"Archie, b'y," he then shouted, catching the lad by the arm and drawing him nearer, "we got t' run for the landing-place. Stick close t' me. When you're done out, I'll carry you. Is you afraid, b'y?"