Trails that Cross in the Snow 113 
and shelter meant death, swift and sure. So they ran on, 
hoping to strike the woods before the blizzard burst 
upon them. 
They were scarcely half-way to shelter when the 
white flakes began to whirl around them. With start¬ 
ling, terrible swiftness the familiar world vanished; the 
guiding trail was blotted out, and nothing but a wolf’s 
instinct could have held a straight course in the blind¬ 
ing fury of the storm. Still they held on bravely, trying 
in vain to keep their direction by the eddying winds, till 
Mooka stumbled twice at the same hollow over a hidden 
brook, and they knew they were running blindly in a cir¬ 
cle of death. Frightened at the discovery they turned, 
as the caribou do, keeping their backs steadily to the 
winds, and drifted slowly away down the long barren. 
Hour after hour they struggled on, hand in hand, 
without a thought of where they were going. Twice 
Mooka fell and lay still, but was dragged to her feet 
and hurried onward again. The little hunter’s own 
strength was almost gone, when a low moan rose 
steadily above the howl and hiss of the gale. It was 
the spruce woods, bending their tops to the blast and 
groaning at the strain. With a wild whoop Noel 
plunged forward, and the next instant they were safe 
within the woods. All around them the flakes sifted 
steadily, silently down into the thick covert, while the 
storm passed with a great roar over their heads. 
