as to get across the harbor of St. Anthony in the
dark and the eddying snow. They had their snowshoes, but in spite of
these they sank to their knees in slush, and the two dog-teams
floundered and half-swam. The team from Cape Norman went first, to
encourage the others. A man stumbled ahead of them all, to break out a
footway. Walter trudged in advance of the rear team, with Grenfell
driving an assortment of beasts he had never handled before. Only a
dog-driver knows what that means.

Ascending the flank of the hill across the harbor, they found
themselves almost overwhelmed by the deep snow, with more piling down
from above, as they fought their way foot by foot up the hill. They
had to take hold of the sleds and lift them to help the dogs, and the
sweat rolled off them in spite of the keen bite of the cold. When they
topped the rise at last, the wind struck them full force, so that
their loudest shouts could not be heard in the roaring onrush of the
wind. The slope was a steep glaze of ice, and down it they coasted,
running into tree-trunks and rocks that threatened to wrench the sleds
and injure the dogs and men. It was hardly better when they reached
the bottom. Here the Bartlett River became their necessary roadway,
and twice Grenfell and others broke through into the swirling current
and were almost carried away to be drowned under the ice.

[Illustration: WHERE FOUR FEET ARE BETTER THAN TWO]

Down-stream they battled their course--no wonder "Battle Harbor" is
the name of the Labrador inlet not far away. It is a battle to get
anywhere in winter on this coast. At half-past one in the morning they
came to where the twenty-mile stretch of sea-ice began.

After that experience of a few years before on the ice-pan, Grenfell
would not have been to blame if he had called a halt and said, "No,
not out there! Let us take the longest way round, by the shore, and
be safe."

But that has never been his way. When duty calls, he takes the air
line to the scene of action. So it was on this awful night. It had
taken six hours to do ten miles. The sea was throwing the ice about
with a mighty booming and crashing like the firing of cannon. The
blizzard stung their faces and lashed their bodies. Grenfell was ready
to dare the passage. But the men who came for him would not have it
so. His life was precious in their sight: and they knew what its
preservation meant to all that helpless lonesomeness of the winter
coast.

It