The snowflakes were
growing larger, however, and were no longer swept with a cutting slant
into their faces.
"Thank God!" cried Webb, "I believe the gale is nearly blown out. I shall
follow this ridge toward the river as far as I can."
"I'll go with you," said he doctor, promptly.
"No," said Webb; "it will be your turn next. It won't do for us all to
get worn out together. I'll go cautiously; and with this ridge as guide,
and the fire, I can't lose my way. I'll take one of the dogs, and fire my
gun about every ten minutes. If I fire twice in succession, follow me;
meanwhile give a blast on the conch every few moments;" and with these
words he speedily disappeared.
The doctor and Leonard returned to the fire, and watched the great flakes
fall hissing into the flames. Hearing of Webb's expedition, the two
neighbors who had recently joined them pushed on up the road, shouting
and blowing the conch-shell as often as they deemed it necessary. Their
signal also was to be two blasts should they meet with any success.
Leonard and the doctor were a _corps de reserve_. The wind soon ceased
altogether, and a stillness that was almost oppressive took the place of
the thunder of the gale. They threw themselves down to rest, and Leonard
observed with a groan how soon his form grew white. "Oh, doctor," he said
in a tone of anguish, "can it be that we shall never find Burt till the
snow melts?"
"Do not take so gloomy a view," was the reply.
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