The driving here on the open river was comparatively easy.  Except occasionally, the straight line could be adhered to.  When it became necessary to avoid an obstruction, Sam gave the command loudly, addressing Billy as the lead dog.

“Hu, Billy!” he would cry.

And promptly Billy would turn to the right.  Or: 

“Chac, Billy!” he would cry.

And Billy would turn to the left, with always in mind the thought of the long whip to recall his duty to man.

Then the other dogs turned after him.  Claire, for her steadiness and sense, had been made sledge-dog.  Always she watched sagaciously to pull the end of the sledge strongly away should the deviation not prove sufficient.  Later, in the woods, when the trail should become difficult, much would depend on Claire’s good sense.

Now shortly, far to the south, the sun rose.  The gray world at once became brilliant.  The low frost haze,—­invisible until now, to be invisible all the rest of the day,—­for these few moments of the level beams worked strange necromancies.  The prisms of a million ice-drops on shrubs and trees took fire.  A bewildering flash and gleam of jewels caught the eye in every direction.  And, suspended in the air, like the shimmer of a soft and delicate veiling, wavered and floated a mist of vapour, tinted with rose and lilac, with amethyst and saffron.

As always on the Long Trail, our travellers’ spirits rose with the sun.  Dick lengthened his stride, the dogs leaned to their collars, Sam threw back his shoulders, the girl swung the sledge tail with added vim.  Now everything was warm and bright and beautiful.  It was yet too early in the day for fatigue, and the first discomforts had passed.

But in a few moments Dick stopped.  The sledge at once came to a halt.  They rested.

At the end of ten minutes Sam stepped to the front, and Dick took the dog-whip.  The young man’s muscles, still weak from their long inaction, ached cruelly.  Especially was this true of the ligaments at the groin—­used in lifting high the knee,—­and the long muscles along the front of the shinbone,—­by which the toe of the snow-shoe was elevated.  He found himself very glad to drop behind into the beaten trail.

The sun by now had climbed well above the horizon, but did little to mitigate the cold.  As long as the violent movement was maintained a warm and grateful glow followed the circulation, but a pause, even of a few moments, brought the shivers.  And always the feathery, clogging snow,—­offering slight resistance, it is true, but opposing that slight resistance continuously, so that at last it amounted to a great deal.  A step taken meant no advance toward easier steps.  The treadmill of forest travel, changed only in outward form, again claimed their dogged patience.

At noon they paused in the shelter of the woods.  The dogs were anchored by the simple expedient of turning the sledge on its side.  A little fire of dried spruce and pine branches speedily melted snow in the kettle, and that as speedily boiled tea.  Caribou steak, thawed, then cooked over the blaze, completed the meal.  As soon as it was swallowed they were off again before the cold could mount them.