l that no more had
fallen and thought he knew the quarter he must make for. Now he was in
the open, he could see some distance, for the snow threw up a dim
light. It stretched away before him, a sweep of glimmering grey, and
the squeaking crunch it made beneath his shoes emphasized the silence.

Skirting a bluff he did not remember, he stopped in alarm until a
taller clump of trees which he thought he knew caught his searching
eyes. If he were right, he must incline farther to the east to strike
the shortest line to camp, and he set off, breathing heavily and
longing to fling away his load. Cold flakes stung his face and a
creeping haze obscured his view in the direction where he expected to
find the next wood. He was within a hundred yards of the nearest trees
when he saw them and as he left the last it was snowing hard. His
heart sank as he launched out into the open, for he had now no guide,
and having neither axe nor blanket he could not make a fire and camp in
a bluff, even if he could find one. It looked as if he must perish
should he fail to reach the camp. The thought of the wolves no longer
troubled him, but when he had gone a mile or two he imagined he heard a
howl behind him and quickened his speed.

After that he had only a hazy recollection of floundering on, passing a
bluff he could not locate and here there and a white rock, while the
snow fell thicker and its surface got worse. Then, when he felt he
could go no farther, a faint glow of light broke out and he turned
towards it with a hoarse cry. An answer reached him; the light grew
brighter, and he was in among the trees. Benson met him, and in
another minute or two he flung himself down, exhausted by the fire.

"I've brought you your supper, boys," he said. "We'll have a feast
to-night."

They ate with keen appetite and afterwards went to sleep, but when they
reached the wood next morning nothing was left of the caribou except
the meat in the tree and a few clean-picked bones.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE FACTORY

Light snow was driving across the waste before a savage wind when the
party sat at breakfast one morning a fortnight after Blake had shot the
caribou. They had spent the first two days enjoying a badly needed
rest, but the rest of the time had been passed in forced marches which
severely taxed their strength. Part of their way, however, had lain
across open country, for they were near the northern edge of the timber
belt, an