It was solid, and over this bridge ready built for them they crossed to the higher ground on the opposite side.

A few hundred yards farther on Thor struck a fairly well-beaten caribou trail which in the course of half an hour led them around the end of the lake to the outlet stream flowing north.
Every minute Muskwa was hoping that Thor would stop.

His afternoon's nap had not taken the lameness out of his legs nor the soreness from the tender pads of his feet.

He had had enough, and more than enough, of travel, and could he have regulated the world according to his own wishes he would not have walked another mile for a whole month.

Mere walking would not have been so bad, but to keep up with Thor's ambling gait he was compelled to trot, like a stubby four-year-old child hanging desperately to the thumb of a big and fast-walking man.