When he finally returned he was too sick to pay
any attention to the banter of his companions, who unsympathetically
made fun of him, and he lay down with the inward belief that smoking
was not the pleasure it was said to be, and as for himself he would
never touch a pipe again.
All day Sunday and Monday the storm blew with unabated fury and the
three were held close prisoners in the tilt. On Monday night it
cleared, and Tuesday morning came clear and rasping cold.
Long before daylight breakfast was eaten and preparations made for
travelling. Bob lashed his tent, cooking utensils, some traps and a
supply of provisions upon one of two toboggans that leaned against the
tilt outside. The other one was for Bill when he should need it. Dick
did up his blanket and a few provisions into a light pack, new slings
were adjusted to their snow-shoes and finally they were ready to
strike the trails.
The steel-gray dawn was just showing when Dick shouldered his pack,
took his axe and gun and shook hands with the boys.
"Good-bye Bob. Have a care o' nasty weather an' don't be losin'
yourself. I'll see you in a fortnight, Bill. Good-bye."
With long strides he turned down the river bend and in a few moments
the immeasurable white wilderness had swallowed him up.
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