A dense fog
obscured the sun and hid the bay from view. It was impossible to
ascertain our direction, and we were compelled to follow all the
windings of the river and coast until the fog lifted. In the meantime
we had no idea where the sled was, and as Toolooah had been told that
we would make our usual ten miles' march, he might have gone that far
before looking for us, and we have still a tedious tramp before us
after reaching the bay. At last we heard the dogs, and finally saw the
sled, still at a great distance on the ice. The gale that had been
blowing all day long, and driving the damp, cold mist into our faces,
making it intensely cold and disagreeable, had subsided, and we
signalled Toolooah to join us.
[Illustration: CLAY-STONE MOUNDS.]
It was a joyful sight to see the sled once more alongside the shore,
for, few as were the comforts it contained, it was our only home, and
it meant the shelter and rest of our sleeping bags. We ate our dinner a
little after midnight, and soon forgot our troubles in sleep. While
Henry was cooking the last of our meat, he had occasion to leave the
fire a few moments, when the dogs, seeing an opportunity for a raid,
broke from their fastenings and poured down upon the culinary
department like an army of devouring fiends. We were all in bed at the
time except Henry; but Toolooah, well knowing the state of our larder,
slipped out under the end of the tent, stark naked, from his sleeping
bag, and poured such a shower of stones upon the dogs as to send them
away howling.
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