making sure them's not there,"
thought Sally. "If Ky had any wits about him, he'd never try the
Hanging Marshes a night like this." So when at last the team actually
divided round the leading mark-pole, Surefoot having rubbed his side
on it, so straight had he travelled even in that inferno, Sally leaped
off immediately, and, following the line of poles, was cheered to see
sparks issuing from the snug tilt among the trees. But alas, there was
only one man, old Uncle John, resting there safely when Sally came
tumbling in. The cheerful wood fire, the contrast of the warmth and
quiet with the howling and darkness of the storm outside, called
loudly to every physical faculty to stay for the night.

"Where be them gone?" queried Sally as soon as the old man had roused
himself enough to understand the sudden interruption. "Where's Ky and
Patsy? I thought you was all together by t' tracks."

"So we was, so we was, boy. But them's gone on, while I thought I'd
bide till daylight."

The loud wail of the dogs in chorus, as they chafed at being left out
of sight or knowledge of their master's whereabouts, was plainly
audible to both men, and suggested the cruel bleakness of the night
outside.

"Youse isn't going on to look for 'em, is you? There be no chance of
doing nothing a night like this," added the old man.

But Sally was in another world. He could see the two men adrift and
trying to keep life in themselves on the White Hills just as plainly
as the cry made him see his beloved dogs calling to him from the
exposed trail outside.

"There'll be nothing left anyhow to do by morning, Uncle John," he
answered. "Look after yourself well and keep t' fire in; maybe I'll be
back sooner than us expects. Goodnight to you." And Sally disappeared
once more into the night.

They were still alive when Surefoot found them, though far more
played out than one would suppose strong men could be in so short a
time. The extra wraps were at once requisitioned, a ration from the
spirit flask was rapidly given to each, and then, forcing them to sit
down on the sledge, Sally again encouraged Surefoot to take the trail.
Downhill, they managed to move along, but the heavy thatch of snow
made progress difficult on the level and almost impossible uphill,
just when exhaustion made marching impracticable even with a line from
the sledge lashed to their arms. Sally found his last device
unavailable. The men must get off for the uphill work, and tha