There would then be a stretch of about two hundred acres to cross before he found the little shack, whose owner had gone away to work on the railroad during the winter.

He expected to have some trouble in reaching it, but he must get the letters, and he set off again, breaking through the snow-crust in places, and trying to estimate the time he took.
A quarter of an hour passed and, as there was no sign of the ravine, he began to wonder whether he had deviated much from his chosen line.

In another few minutes he was getting anxious; and then suddenly he plunged knee-deep into yielding snow.

It got deeper at the next step and he knew that he had reached the shallow depression, which had been almost filled up by the drifts.

He must cross it, and the effort this entailed left him gasping when he stopped again on the farther side.
It was still possible to retrace his steps, because he could hardly fail to strike the bluff he had left, but there was no doubt that to go on would be perilous.