red abroad and the smouldering of the fur which was about
his throat and arms, he guessed that in his blindness and instinctive
desire for warmth, he had thrown himself upon its ashes. Having
gathered what remained of it together, he flung on more fuel and set
to work to chafe his extremities, restoring circulation. He was too
chilled to think of attempting sleep again that night: so, when his
limbs were sufficiently thawed out, he renewed his journey.

The atmosphere was wonderfully clear, but there was in the air a sense
of evil and foreboding. Even the dogs seemed to be aware of it, for as
they ran, turning their heads from side to side to see which way the
whip was coming that they might dodge it, there was a look of
foreknowledge and terror in their eyes which warned Granger.

As the dawn was spreading, he was startled by a long-drawn sigh, which
travelled from horizon to horizon and died out. The dogs heard it, and
sitting down abruptly in their tracks nearly overturned the sled.
Gazing away to the northward, he saw a shadowy cloud arise, whirl and
drift languidly over the tree-tops and fall back again out of sight.
He lashed at the huskies, and with difficulty set them going. But the
sled drew heavily, as though it were being dragged through sand, for
the snow was gritty as the seashore: so intense was the cold that all
slipperiness had gone out of it. He fastened a line to the load and
went on ahead, breaking the trail and hauling with all his strength.

Before long the sigh was heard again; but this time it came nearer,
and columns of white smoke rose up and danced in the river-bed. Then
he knew that he was in for a _poudre_ day--the day which of all others
the winter voyageur holds in most dread. While such weather lasts,
even the hardiest traveller will refuse to leave his fire; for he
knows that before long every land-mark will be blotted out, that his
very dogs will refuse to obey him, and that to-morrow, when the wind
has dropped and the snow has settled, the chances are that the sun
will find him with a quiet face turned upward to the sky, immobile and
statuesque as if carved from Parian marble.

Leaving Spurling's trail, he ascended the bank and worked along by the
forest's edge, that so he might gain shelter. With every fresh puff of
breath from the north, the coiling snakes of snow grew larger,
writhing across the tree-tops and pouring tumultuously into the
river-bed, where they rioted and fought ti