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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