I must guard my readers--especially my juvenile readers--from
supposing that it was our purpose that night to undress and calmly lie
down in, or on, the pure white winding-sheet in which the frozen world
of the Great Nor'-west had been at that time wrapped for more than four
months. Our snow-bed, like other beds, required making, but I will
postpone the making of it till bed-time. Meanwhile, let us follow the
steps of Lumley, who, being taller and stronger than I, _always_ led the
way.

This leading of the way through the trackless wilderness in snow
averaging four feet deep is harder work than one might suppose. It
could not be done at all without the aid of snow-shoes, which, varying
from three to five feet in length, enable the traveller to walk on the
surface of the snow, into which he would otherwise sink, more or less,
according to its condition. If it be newly fallen and very soft, he
sinks six, eight, or more inches. If it be somewhat compressed by time
or wind he sinks only an inch or two. On the hard surface of exposed
lakes and rivers, where it is beaten to the appearance of marble, he
dispenses with snow-shoes altogether, slings them on his gun, and
carries them over his shoulder.

Our first mile lay through a clump of pine-wood, where snow had recently
fallen. When I looked at my comrade's broad back, and observed the
vigour of his action as he trod deep into the virgin snow at every
stride, scattering it aside like fine white powder as he lifted each
foot, I thought how admirably he was fitted for a pioneer in the
wilderness, or for the work of those dauntless, persevering men who go
forth to add to the world's geographical knowledge, and to lead the
expeditions sent out in search of such lost heroes as Franklin and
Livingstone.

My own work was comparatively light. I had merely to tread in the
beaten path. I was not, however, thereby secured from disaster, as I
found when, having advanced about half a mile, my right shoe caught a
twig to which it held for a moment, and then, breaking loose, allowed me
to pitch head down with such violence that I almost reached mother earth
four feet below the surface.

This kind of plunge is always awkward owing to the difficulty of rising,
and usually disagreeable, owing to the manner in which snow stuffs
itself into neck, ears, nose, eyes, mouth--if open--and any convenient
crevice of person or garments. The snow-shoes, too, which are so
serviceable when