It was getting dark when he left the shelter of the trees, and the cold in the open struck through him like a knife.
The moon had not yet risen and the waste stretched away before him, its whiteness changed to a soft blue-gray.

In the distance scattered bluffs rose in long dark smears; but there was nothing to indicate which way Blake should turn, and he had no reason to believe there was a caribou near the camp.

As a matter of fact, they had found the larger deer remarkably scarce.
Blake was tired, after breaking the trail since sunrise, and the snow was loose beneath his big net shoes, but he plodded toward the farthest bluff, feeling that he was largely to blame for the party's difficulties.

Knowing something of the country, he should have insisted on turning back when he found they could obtain no dog teams to transport their supplies.

Occasionally Hudson Bay agents and patrols of the North-West Police made long journeys in arctic weather; but they were provided with proper sleds and sufficient preserved food.
Indeed, Blake was astonished that he and his comrades had got so far.
He had given way to Harding, who hardly knew the risks he ran, and now he supposed that he must take the consequences.