"I'll tie 'em up out of reach of each other to-night," Bill said, as they
took the trail.
They had travelled little more than a hundred yards, when Henry, who was
in front, bent down and picked up something with which his snowshoe had
collided. It was dark, and he could not see it, but he recognised it by
the touch. He flung it back, so that it struck the sled and bounced
along until it fetched up on Bill's snowshoes.
"Mebbe you'll need that in your business," Henry said.
Bill uttered an exclamation. It was all that was left of Spanker--the
stick with which he had been tied.
"They ate 'm hide an' all," Bill announced. "The stick's as clean as a
whistle. They've ate the leather offen both ends. They're damn hungry,
Henry, an' they'll have you an' me guessin' before this trip's over."
Henry laughed defiantly. "I ain't been trailed this way by wolves
before, but I've gone through a whole lot worse an' kept my health. Takes
more'n a handful of them pesky critters to do for yours truly, Bill, my
son."
"I don't know, I don't know," Bill muttered ominously.
"Well, you'll know all right when we pull into McGurry."
"I ain't feelin' special enthusiastic," Bill persisted.
"You're off colour, that's what's the matter with you," Henry dogmatised.
"What you need is quinine, an' I'm goin' to dose you up stiff as soon as
we make McGurry.
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