CHAPTER 15
The Truce of the Storm
UNDER the most favourable circumstances a northern trail in the dead winter is a test of endurance. There is the stinging cold, the weary tread hour after hour, up hill and down, with no prospect of a hot supper waiting at the end of the day’s march. It is hard and discouraging enough then, but how much more difficult when the snow-shoes are merely rough, heavy makeshifts, the webs too loose to support the feet in a proper manner, and the frames occasionally giving way beneath the strain. In addition to all this and the weariness, to have little to eat, and no comfortable resting place at night.
Such were the conditions under which the three wayfarers plodded slowly onward the next day. North and Rolfe found it hard, but Marion a great deal harder. The snow-shoes which had caused her so much pride seemed like great clogs to her feet. She longed to throw them aside, but that was out of the question. So wearily she struggled forward, doing her best to keep up with the men, who were even then travelling at a snail’s pace for her sake. The sergeant longed to help her, but as they were moving in Indian file he could do little to assist. Several times he tried to walk by her side, holding her arm and letting her lean on him for support. But the snow was too deep, and
each time he floundered around on his wretched snow-
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