iably they returned
empty-handed. Occasionally they reported old tracks of reindeer and
foxes, but the winter colds had driven everything far inland. Once only
Clarke shot a snow-bunting, a little bird hardly bigger than a sparrow.
Still Bennett pushed forward.

One morning in the beginning of the third week, after a breakfast of two
ounces of dog meat and a half cup of willow tea, Ferriss and Bennett
found themselves a little apart from the others. The men were engaged in
lowering the tent. Ferriss glanced behind to be assured he was out of
hearing, then:

"How about McPherson?" he said in a low voice.

McPherson's foot was all but eaten to the bone by now. It was a miracle
how the man had kept up thus far. But at length he had begun to fall
behind; every day he straggled more and more, and the previous evening
had reached camp nearly an hour after the tent had been pitched. But he
was a plucky fellow, of sterner stuff than the sailing-master, Adler,
and had no thought of giving up.

Bennett made no reply to Ferriss, and the chief engineer did not repeat
the question. The day's march began; almost at once breast-high
snowdrifts were encountered, and when these had been left behind the
expedition involved itself upon the precipitate slopes of a huge talus
of ice and bare, black slabs of basalt. Fully two hours were spent in
clambering over this obstacle, and on its top Bennett halted to breathe
the men. But when they started forward again it was found that McPherson
could not keep his feet. When he had fallen, Adler and Dennison had
endeavoured to lift him, but they themselves were so weak that they,
too, fell. Dennison could not rise of his own efforts, and instead of
helping McPherson had to be aided himself. Bennett came forward, put an
arm about McPherson, and hauled him to an upright position. The man took
a step forward, but his left foot immediately doubled under him, and he
came to the ground again. Three times this manoeuvre was repeated; so
far from marching, McPherson could not even stand.

"If I could have a day's rest--" began McPherson, unsteadily. Bennett
cast a glance at Dennison, the doctor. Dennison shook his head. The
foot, the entire leg below the knee, should have been amputated days
ago. A month's rest even in a hospital at home would have benefited
McPherson nothing.

For the fraction of a minute Bennett debated the question, then he
turned to the command.

"Forward, men!"

"What--wh--"