In a moment more he had placed Bouche at the head of the
first team of dogs. They were to have their leader too. Punctually at
noon, Hume shook hands with the factor, said a quick good-bye to the
rest, called out a friendly "How!" to the Indians standing near, and to
the sound of a hearty cheer, heartier perhaps because none had a
confident hope that the five would come back, the march of the White
Guard began.
III
It was eighteen days after. In the shadow of a little island of pines,
that lies in a shivering waste of ice and snow, the White Guard were
camped. They were able to do this night what they had not done for
days--dig a great grave of snow, and building a fire of pine wood at each
end of this strange house, get protection and something like comfort.
They sat silent close to the fires. Jaspar Hume was writing with numbed
fingers. The extract that follows is taken from his diary. It tells that
day's life, and so gives an idea of harder, sterner days that they had
spent and must yet spend, on this weary journey.
December 25th.--This is Christmas Day and Camp twenty-seven. We
have marched only five miles to-day.
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