“That a’ right,” he said. “Chuck fire out now. Smoke smell long ways.”
Tom obeyed, tossing the fire out into the new snow brand by brand.
“Good,” said Mick. “This snow darn good too, you bet. Don’t let up one-day, maybe. We make toboggan now an’ git out, what.”
“Whatever you say,” replied Tom. “You are in command, so long as we stay on the ground. But what shall we make the toboggan of, and how long will the job take us? We are supposed to be in a hurry, I believe.”
Mick got to his feet, ax in hand, and walked to a big spruce that towered nearby, all of it but the brown base and lower branches lost to view in the twirling white veils of snow. He hoisted himself to the lowest branch and lopped it off. Thus he cut six tough, wide branches. With these, and strips cut from a blanket, he quickly fashioned what he was pleased to call a toboggan. Upon it he laid all the packs and fastened them down with the tarpaulin. He rigged strong traces of blanket to the forward end of the thing.
“Now we pull him,” he said. “Guess he slide pretty good; an’ the snow fill up his track darn quick.”
They rounded the western end of the pond, dragging their possessions at their heels. They headed north then, pulling like horses, each with a rope of blanket over a shoulder and gripped in both hands. The toboggan, so called, stuck frequently and had to be yanked this way and that and lifted by the stern. It was hard work and slow progress—but they kept at it without rest until three o’clock in the afternoon; and the snow continued to fall thickly and windlessly all that time.
They pulled into a close thicket of young spruces, made a small fire and boiled snow for tea. After eating a few slices of bread and drinking a kettleful of tea, they lit their pipes and continued their journey. The visionless day darkened to black night; and still they toiled forward. The light, new snow took them to the knees. It was rough going all the way, with never more than a few yards of level ground at a time—over blow-downs and hidden hummocks of moss and hidden rocks, and through tangles of every variety of underbrush. Mick Otter missed his footing and fell twice and Tom did the same thing four times. Twice one of the packs worked loose and fell off; and at last the sledge itself fell apart from sheer wear and tear.
“IT WAS HARD WORK AND SLOW PROGRESS.”