ressed forward without a halt, for there
was little more than three hours' daylight left, and it was unthinkable
that they should spend the night without food or shelter. The horizon
steadily narrowed as the snow thickened; there was a risk of their
passing the guiding-marks, or even the factory.

It was nearly three o'clock when Harding stumbled and fell into the
snow. He found himself unable to get up until Benson helped him, and
in his attempt to rise he further strained his weakened leg. For a
moment he leaned on his companion, his face contorted with pain.

"The fall seems to have hurt you," Benson said sympathetically.

"I'll have to go on," Harding gasped; and, setting his teeth, he strode
forward; but he made only a few paces. The pain was severe; his head
reeled; his strength gave way and he sank down on his knees.

Benson and Blake stopped in consternation.

"If I've kept the right line, we can't be far from the factory," Blake
said encouragingly.

"I'm played out," Harding declared. "You'll have to leave me here. If
you make the post, you can come back with a sled."

"No! How are we to find you with our trail drifting up? Besides,
you'd be frozen in a few hours. If you can't walk, you'll have to be
carried. Get hold of him, Benson!"

Benson lifted him to his feet, Blake seized his arm, and, both
supporting him, they resumed the march. Leaning on them heavily,
Harding was dragged along, and they silenced the feeble protests he
made now and then.

"Stop talking that rot! We see this out together!" Blake told him
roughly.

None of them had much doubt as to what the end would be, but they
stubbornly held on. Nothing further was said. Blake and Benson
themselves were nearly exhausted, and their pinched faces were set and
stern, and Harding's was drawn up in a ghastly fashion by suffering.
Still, their overtaxed muscles somehow obeyed the relentless call on
them.

At last, when the light had almost gone, Benson stepped into a slight
depression that slanted across their path.

"Hold on!" he cried hoarsely. "Look at this!"

Blake stooped, while Harding, swaying awkwardly with bent leg, held on
to him. The hollow was small: a smooth groove of slightly lower level
than the rest of the snow.

"A sledge trail!" he cried in an exultant voice. "Drifted up a bit,
but they've been hauling lumber over it, and that means a good deal to
us!" He indicated a shallow furrow a foot or two outside