okh_, the storm!" said Noel sharply; and without another
word they turned and hurried back on their own trail. In a short half
hour the world would be swallowed up in chaos. To be caught out on the
barrens meant to be lost; and to be lost here without fire and shelter
meant death, swift and sure. So they ran on, hoping to strike the woods
before the blizzard burst upon them.

They were scarcely half-way to shelter when the white flakes began to
whirl around them. With startling, terrible swiftness the familiar world
vanished; the guiding trail was blotted out, and nothing but a wolf's
instinct could have held a straight course in the blinding fury of the
storm. Still they held on bravely, trying in vain to keep their
direction by the eddying winds, till Mooka stumbled twice at the same
hollow over a hidden brook, and they knew they were running blindly in a
circle of death. Frightened at the discovery they turned, as the caribou
do, keeping their backs steadily to the winds, and drifted slowly away
down the long barren.

Hour after hour they struggled on, hand in hand, without a thought of
where they were going. Twice Mooka fell and lay still, but was dragged
to her feet and hurried onward again. The little hunter's own strength
was almost gone, when a low moan rose steadily above the howl and hiss
of the gale. It was the spruce woods, bending their tops to the blast
and groaning at the strain. With a wild whoop Noel plunged forward, and
the next instant they were safe within the woods. All around them the
flakes sifted steadily, silently down into the thick covert, while the
storm passed with a great roar over their heads.

In the lee of a low-branched spruce they stopped again, as though by a
common impulse, while Noel lifted his hands. "Thanks, thanks,
_Keesuolukh_; we can take care of ourselves now," the brave little heart
was singing under the upstretched arms. Then they tumbled into the snow
and lay for a moment utterly relaxed, like two tired animals, in that
brief, delicious rest which follows a terrible struggle with the storm
and cold.

First they ate a little of their bread and fish to keep up their
spirits; then--for the storm that was upon them might last for
days--they set about preparing a shelter. With a little search, whooping
to each other lest they stray away, they found a big dry stub that some
gale had snapped off a few feet above the snow. While Mooka scurried
about, collecting birch bark and a