Sintamaskin 



The early morning of Thursday, the last 

 day of January, was clear and still. The 

 heavy snowstorm of the day before had ceased 

 during the night, leaving a new layer, a foot 

 in depth, upon that which already lay deep 

 over mountain and lake, and piling itself high 

 upon every branch and twig of the dense 

 forest about us. I had awakened at three, 

 still conscious of the effects of yesterday's 

 long tramp, when Peter and I had followed 

 for eight hours the fresh tracks of a herd of 

 seven caribou, far over steep hills, through 

 heavy timber, and in deep, soft snow, only to 

 find that the waning day bade us strike out 

 for camp ; for the further route of our game 

 was still to be disentangled from a labyrinth 

 of tracks made where they had stopped to 

 feed. We had eaten our lunch as we marched, 

 delay being a thing to avoid, and fire out of 

 the question on so fresh a trail ; and when we 

 reached camp again, just as darkness closed 



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