116 Northern Trails. Book I 
changed, and they need not stir every half-hour to feed 
their little fire and keep from freezing. It was broad 
daylight, the storm had ceased, and a woodpecker was 
hammering loudly on a hollow shell over their heads 
when they started up, wondering vaguely where they 
were. Then while Noel broke out of the commoosie, 
which was fairly buried under the snow, to find out 
where he was, Mooka rebuilt the fire and plucked a 
ptarmigan and set it to toasting with the last of their 
bread over the coals. 
Noel came back soon with a cheery whoop to tell the 
little cook that they had drifted before the storm down 
the whole length of the great barren, and were camped 
now on the opposite side, just under the highest ridge 
of the Top Gallants. There was not a track on the 
barrens, he said; not a sign of wolf or caribou, which 
had probably wandered deeper into the woods for 
shelter. So they ate their bread to the last crumb and 
their bird to the last bone, and, giving up all thought 
of hunting, started up the big barren, heading for the 
distant Lodge, where they had long since been given 
up for lost. 
They had crossed the barren and a mile of thick 
woods beyond when they ran into the fresh trail of a 
dozen caribou. Following it swiftly they came to the 
edge of a much smaller barren that they had crossed 
yesterday, and saw at a glance that the trail stretched 
