“But they may have walked in a row—behind each other.”
“That is true. You notice well, Anteek. You will be a good hunter soon.”
He stooped as he spoke, to examine more carefully the track, which was indeed none other than that made by the snow-shoes of Nazinred on his weary and well-nigh hopeless journey over the frozen sea.
“Look here, Cheenbuk,” cried the boy, whose excitement was increasing. “Is there not here also the track of a dog, with a strange mark on each side of it, as if it were drawing two lines as it went along?”
“You are right again, boy. There is here the track of a dog, but there is only one man. Come, we will follow it up.”
Jumping on the sledge again, the Eskimo cracked his whip and set the dogs off at full gallop.
For some time they advanced, looking eagerly forward, as if expecting every minute to come in sight of the man and dog who had made the tracks, but nothing appeared for some hours. Then they arrived at the three huts where the Indian had received such a disappointment on finding them deserted. A close examination showed that the stranger had spent a night in one of them, and, from various indications, Cheenbuk came to the conclusion that he had been much exhausted, if not starving, while there.
Getting on the sledge again, he continued to follow up the trail with renewed diligence.
They had not gone far when an object was seen lying on the ice not far ahead of them.
Anteek was first to catch sight of it, and point it out to his companion, who did not speak, but let out his lash and urged the dogs on. As they approached, the object was seen to move, then there came towards them what sounded like a prolonged melancholy howl.