t and, extracting a
ship's biscuit from the grub box, he said, hurriedly: "Here, Johnny. Get
something under your belt, quick."

Cantwell obediently munched the hard cracker, but there was no moisture
on his tongue; his throat was paralyzed; the crumbs crowded themselves
from the corners of his lips. He tried with limber fingers to stuff
them down, or to assist the muscular action of swallowing, but finally
expelled them in a cloud. Mort drew the parka hood over his partner's
head, for the wind cut like a scythe and the dogs were turning tail to
it, digging holes in the snow for protection. The air about them was
like yeast; the light was fading.

The Indian snowshoed his way back, advising a quick camp until the storm
abated, but to this suggestion Grant refused to listen, knowing only too
well the peril of such a course. Nor did he dare take Johnny on the
sled, since the fellow was half asleep already, but instead whipped up
the dogs and urged his companion to follow as best he could.

When Cantwell fell, for a second time, he returned, dragged him forward,
and tied his wrists firmly, yet loosely, to the load.

The storm was pouring over them now, like water out of a spout; it
seared and blinded them; its touch was like that of a flame.
Nevertheless they struggled on into the smother, making what headway
they could. The Indian led, pulling at the end of a rope; Grant strained
at the sled and hoarsely encouraged the dogs; Cantwell stumbled and
lurched in the rear like an unwilling prisoner. When he fell his
companion lifted him, then beat him, cursed him, tried in every way to
rouse him from his lethargy.

After an interminable time they found they were descending and this gave
them heart to plunge ahead more rapidly. The dogs began to trot as the
sled overran them; they rushed blindly into gullies, fetching up at the
bottom in a tangle, and Johnny followed in a nerveless, stupefied
condition. He was dragged like a sack of flour for his legs were limp
and he lacked muscular control, but every dash, every fall, every quick
descent drove the sluggish blood through his veins and cleared his brain
momentarily. Such moments were fleeting, however; much of the time his
mind was a blank, and it was only by a mechanical effort that he fought
off unconsciousness.

He had vague memories of many beatings at Mort's hands, of the slippery
clean-swept ice of a stream over which he limply skidded, of being
carried into a tent