Light came at nine o'clock.

At twelve o'clock the southern horizon was warmed by the unseen sun; and then began the cold grey of afternoon that would merge, three hours later, into night.
It was just after the sun's futile effort to appear, that Bill slipped the rifle from under the sled-lashings and said: "You keep right on, Henry, I'm goin' to see what I can see." "You'd better stick by the sled," his partner protested.

"You've only got three cartridges, an' there's no tellin' what might happen." "Who's croaking now ?" Bill demanded triumphantly.
Henry made no reply, and plodded on alone, though often he cast anxious glances back into the grey solitude where his partner had disappeared.

An hour later, taking advantage of the cut-offs around which the sled had to go, Bill arrived.
"They're scattered an' rangin' along wide," he said: "keeping up with us an' lookin' for game at the same time.

You see, they're sure of us, only they know they've got to wait to get us.