Gradually the fire died to coals, then filmed to ashes.  Hand in hand the cold and the darkness invaded the camp.  As the firelight faded, objects showed dimly, growing ever more distinct through the dying glow—­the snow-laden bushes, the pointed trees against a steel sky of stars.  The little, artificial tumult of homely sound by which these men had created for the moment an illusion of life sank down under the unceasing pressure of the verities, so that the wilderness again flowed unobstructed through the forest aisles.  With a last pop of coals the faint noise of the fire ceased.  Then an even fainter noise slowly became audible, a crackling undertone as of silken banners rustling.  And at once, splendid, barbaric, the mighty orgy of the winter-time aurora began.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

In a day or two Dick was attacked by the fearful mal de raquette, which tortures into knots the muscles of the leg below the knee; and by cramps that doubled him up in his blankets.  This was the direct result of his previous inaction.  He moved only with pain; and yet, by the stern north-country code, he made no complaint and moved as rapidly as possible.  Each time he raised his knee a sharp pain stabbed his groin, as though he had been stuck by a penknife; each time he bent his ankle in the recover the mal de raquette twisted his calves, and stretched his ankle tendons until he felt that his very feet were insecurely attached and would drop off.  During the evening he sat quiet, but after he had fallen asleep from the mere exhaustion of the day’s toil, he doubled up, straightened out, groaned aloud, and spoke rapidly in the strained voice of one who suffers.  Often he would strip his legs by the fire, in order that Sam could twist a cleft stick vigorously about the affected muscles; which is the Indian treatment.  As for the cramps, they took care of themselves.  The day’s journey was necessarily shortened until he had partly recovered, but even after the worst was over, a long tramp always brought a slight recurrence.

For the space of nearly ten weeks these people travelled thus in the region of the Kabinikagam.  Sometimes they made long marches; sometimes they camped for the hunting; sometimes the great, fierce storms of the north drove them to shelter, snowed them under, and passed on shrieking.  The wind opposed them.  At first of little account, its very insistence gave it value.  Always the stinging snow whirling into the face; always the eyes watering and smarting; always the unyielding opposition against which to bend the head; always the rush of sound in the ears,—­a distraction against which the senses had to struggle before they could take their needed cognisance of trail and of game.  An uneasiness was abroad with the wind, an uneasiness that infected the men, the dogs, the forest creatures, the very insentient trees themselves.  It racked the nerves.  In it the inimical Spirit of the North seemed to find its plainest symbol; though many difficulties she cast in the way were greater to be overcome.