But his people could--and _would_.

He could see them sweeping in from the telescoping segments of the herds as the word went among them; he could see them streaking out of the foothills; and then, like wolves scattering for freer air and leg-room, he saw them dotting the tundra in their race for home--and war, if it was war that lay ahead of them.
Twilight began to creep in upon him, like veils of cool, dry mist out of the horizons.

And hour after hour he went on, eating a strip of pemmican when he grew hungry, and drinking in the spring coulees when he came to them, where the water was cold and clear.

Not until a telltale cramp began to bite warningly in his leg did he stop for the rest which he knew he must take.

It was one o'clock.