The afternoon was dreary, and Helen owned herself disturbed. Snow clouds rolled across the sky, and although the stove was red, water froze in the fort kitchen. Simmonds was with Lawson in the room upstairs, but the constable had got out of bed. His cuts were not as deep as the others had thought, and he expected to rejoin his detachment soon. Spence and George had engaged a sledge team, and, loading up supplies, started south on Murray’s track.
This was all Helen knew, and when her cold fingers could not steady the needle she put up her sewing and mused. She wondered when she would get news about Fothergill but, although to wait was hard, she rather shrank from the messenger’s arrival. Lafarge was an awkward antagonist, and on the snowy trail one ran numerous risks.
There was another th
