All that day they pushed steadily forward almost without a pause,
holding a westerly course to pass around a deep fiord that penetrated
far inland, and might not yet be crossed with safety. Yim ran beside
his straining dogs, encouraging the laggards with whip and voice; White
led the way and broke the trail, while Cabot brought up the rear and
helped the sledge over difficult places.
For several hours they followed the signal line with its fluttering
flags, and felt that they were still on familiar ground. At length
even these were left behind, and for three hours longer they plodded
sturdily forward, guided only by Yim's unerring instinct. Then the
short day came to an end and night descended with a chill breath of
bitter winds. Cabot was nearly exhausted, and even White was painfully
weary, but both had been buoyed up by a hope that they might reach
timber and have abundant firewood for their first camp. Now, when Yim,
throwing down his whip and giving his dogs the command to halt, calmly
announced that they would make camp where they were, both lads looked
at him in dismay.
"We surely can't camp here in the snow without a fire or any kind of
shelter!" exclaimed Cabot. "Why, man, we'll be frozen stiff long
before morning."
"A' yite. Me fix um. You see," responded Yim, cheerfully.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE COMFORT OF AN ESKIMO LAMP.
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