The man studied every detail of his outfit.  He knew the chances, the desperate nature of the long winter trail.  He had no desire to increase the hardship of it all by any act of carelessness.

Behind him lay the mockery of a camping ground.  It was a minute, isolated bluff of stunted, windswept trees, set in a white, wide wilderness of barren land.  Perhaps there was some half a hundred of them.  But that was all.  They had served, but only by reason that their shelter had satisfied habit, which, even in the men of the long trail, will not be denied.

He turned away.  Everything was to his satisfaction.  So his tall, fur-clad figure passed in amongst the dwarf trees.

The dogs remained crouching, their fierce eyes gazing out over the desolate expanse of winter’s playground.  It lay at a great altitude, several thousands of feet above the level of the sea.  The sky was drab.  It was bitter with threat.  It was unrelieved by any break in the menacing winter cloud.  It was a snow sky which only refrained from releasing its burden by reason of the high, top wind that drove the heavy masses relentlessly.  The earthly prospect was no more inviting.  It was wide, and flat, and devoid of vegetation.  There were no hills anywhere, and the skyline was just a vanishing point similar to the horizon of the open sea.  One vast, wide field of snow and ice spread out in every direction, and made desolation complete.

When the man re-appeared he was armed with a sturdy “gee-pole,” and at his belt was coiled a heavy-thonged, short-stocked driving whip.

Without a word he thrust the pole under the front of the sled runners, and a sharp command broke from his lips.  The effect was instantaneous.  Each dog sprang at his “tug.”  The man heaved on his pole.  There was a moment of straining, then the holding ice gave up its grip, and the sled shot forward.

The man stood for a moment beating his mitted hands.  Then he took his place on the sled, buried his legs and feet under the heavy seal robes set ready, and so the long-waited command to “mush” was hurled at the waiting beasts.

The dogs leapt at their work and the sled swept forward with a rush.  A blinding flurry of snow dust rose in its wake, enveloping it, and the dogs raced on, yelping with the joy of activity.  Their great muscles were aquiver with the eager spirit which is bred of the wild.  And so they would continue to run, for their load was light, and the heavy-thonged whip was playing in skilful hands, and they knew, and feared, and obeyed its constant threat.

The way lay across the frozen bosom of a great lake, no less than an inland sea, and a hundred miles must be travelled before night, or the snow, overtook them.  It was a hard run.  But it must be accomplished.  Failure?  But failure must not be considered.  No man could contemplate failure and face the winter trail in the barren desolation of the lofty interior of Labrador’s untracked wild.