Thin snow blew about, the stiff spruces bent, and the sky was dark. Spence labored in the sledge traces, but his feet and hands were numb. Murray and Fothergill, bending their heads to the blast, went fifty yards in front, and the sergeant studied the trampled snow. So far, the drifts had not covered the curving track that went up-river, but Fothergill thought Murray was puzzled.
“Lafarge is obviously keeping the trail we broke,” he said. “Looks as if he was not far in front. Although the snow begins to drift, his track’s distinct.”
“Its distinctness is remarkable,” Murray rejoined. “I doubt if it paid to start in the dark, because since day broke the marks beat me.”
Fothergill nodded. “I rather thought Lafarge had plunged about; as if he was not steady on his legs.”
“The marks indicat
