After a time that seemed interminable Willet’s figure disappeared over the cliff, and, with a gasp, Robert followed, Tayoga coming swiftly after.  The three were so tired, their vitality was so reduced that they lay down in the snow, and drew long, painful breaths.  When some measure of strength was restored they stood up and surveyed the place where they stood, a bleak summit over which the wind blew sharply.  Nothing grew there but low bushes, and they felt that, while they may have escaped the war band, their own physical case was worse instead of better.  Both cold and wind were more severe and a bitter hail beat upon them.  It was obvious that Areskoui did not yet forgive, although it must surely be a sin of ignorance, of omission and not of commission, with the equal certainty that a sin of such type could not be unforgivable for all time.

“We seem to be on a ridge that runs for a great distance,” said Tayoga.  “Suppose we continue along the comb of it.  At least we cannot make ourselves any worse off than we are now.”

They toiled on, now and then falling on the slippery trail, their vitality sinking lower and lower.  Occasionally they had glimpses of a vast desolate region under a somber sky, peaks and ridges and slopes over which clouds hovered, the whole seeming to resent the entry of man and to offer to him every kind of resistance.

Robert was now wet through and through.  No part of his body had escaped and he knew that his vitality was at such a low ebb that at least seventy-five per cent, of it was gone.  He wanted to stop, his cold and aching limbs cried out for rest, and he craved heat at the cost of every risk, but his will was still firm, and he would not be the first to speak.  It was Willet who suggested when they came to a slight dip that they make an effort to build a fire.

“The human body, no matter how strong it may be naturally, and how much it may be toughened by experience, will stand only so much,” he said.

They were constantly building fires in the wilderness, but the fire they built that morning was the hardest of them all to start.  They selected, as usual, the lee of a rocky uplift, and, then by the patient use of flint and steel, and, after many failures, they kindled a blaze that would last.  But in their reduced state the labor exhausted them, and it was some time before they drew any life from the warmth.  When the circulation had been restored somewhat they piled on more wood, taking the chance of being seen.  They even went so far as to build a second fire, that they might sit between the two and dry themselves more rapidly.  Then they waited in silence the coming of the dawn.

CHAPTER III

THE BRAVE DEFENSE