A Trj> for Ptarmigan 239 



time to think Joe was again in view, and I men- 

 tally vowed that not for my life would I let him 

 out of my sight. Indian-like, he had no idea of 

 halting or looking round to see how I fared. I 

 was to follow — if I failed to do so, that was my 

 affair. When an Indian gets scared he's the 

 worst scared thing imaginable ; and Joe was going 

 to the cabin by the shortest route. If I failed to 

 make it, he'd hunt for me — after the weather 

 cleared. 



Through the roar and the whine and the fog of 

 it all we pounded ahead. First a faint, uneasy 

 dread took hold of me. Did Joe know whither 

 he was drifting? Had his instinct for once 

 failed? We seemed to have covered an awfully 

 long route. Then another and worse fear came. 

 I was getting tired. No mistake about that. No 

 one knew better than I what the muscles of each 

 leg were complaining of. No temporary loss of 

 wind this time, but genuine exhaustion. One 

 quarter of a mile more, if we had to go so far, 

 and I'd be done so brown that a bake-oven 

 couldn't tan me more. 



What then ? I'd follow the trail far as I could, 

 then curl up. I had the flask and the infernal 



ptarmigan — d n the ptarmigan ! And I'd live 



on them for two days, anyway. But the cold — 

 oh ! yes, the cold — well, it would freeze me stiffer 

 than the North Pole in twenty minutes, and then 



