Bill would be waiting for him there, and they would paddle away south down the Dease to the Great Bear Lake.

And south across the lake they would go, ever south, till they gained the Mackenzie.

And south, still south, they would go, while the winter raced vainly after them, and the ice formed in the eddies, and the days grew chill and crisp, south to some warm Hudson Bay Company post, where timber grew tall and generous and there was grub without end.

These were the thoughts of the man as he strove onward.

But hard as he strove with his body, he strove equally hard with his mind, trying to think that Bill had not deserted him, that Bill would surely wait for him at the cache.

He was compelled to think this thought, or else there would not be any use to strive, and he would have lain down and died.

And as the dim ball of the sun sank slowly into the northwest he covered every inch -- and many times -- of his and Bill's flight south before the downcoming winter.

And he conned the grub of the cache and the grub of the Hudson Bay Company post over and over again.

He had not eaten for two days; for a far longer time he had not had all he wanted to eat.

Often he stooped and picked pale muskeg berries, put them into his mouth, and chewed and swallowed them.