It meant life to him and to his starving companions.

His feet sank into the soft snow; the wind blew him back cruelly; a cloud had come over the moon, obscuring what little light he had; but, worst of all, one of his snowshoes was loose.

With the cry of the wolves behind him, he did not dare stop to tighten it, although it impeded his progress greatly.

He struggled forward as the howls drew nearer; and then, when it seemed that he would have to give up, a faint glow of light broke out and he turned toward it with a hoarse cry.

An answer reached him, the light grew brighter, and he was in among the trees.
Benson met him, and a minute later he flung himself down, exhausted, by the fire.
"I've brought you your supper, boys," he gasped, "but the wolves are on my trail!" Harding grabbed the rifle, while Benson poked at the fire until a larger flame swept up, lighting clearly a radius of several yards; but the wolves, fearing the fire or scenting some other prey, had branched off to the right, and the men could hear their howls growing fainter in the distance.
"We'll have a feast to-night, boys," Benson said, hastily preparing the meal.
They ate with keen appetite, and afterward went to sleep; and when they reached the woods the next morning nothing was left of the caribou except the meat in the tree and a few clean-picked bones.
With a sufficient quantity of meat to stave off their anxiety regarding the question of food, the men spent two days enjoying a badly needed rest; and then they pushed on, making forced marches which severely taxed their strength.