"Burt must have been able
to make a fire, and now that the wind has ceased we can attract his
attention."
Webb's gun was heard from time to time, the sounds growing steadily
fainter. At last, far away to the east, came two reports in quick
succession. The two men started up, and with the aid of lanterns followed
Webb's trail, Abram bringing up the rear with an axe and blankets.
Sometimes up to his waist in snow, sometimes springing from rock to rock
that the wind had swept almost bare, Webb had toiled on along the broken
ridge, his face scratched and bleeding from the shaggy, stunted trees
that it was too dark to avoid; but he thought not of such trifles, and
seemed endowed with a strength ten times his own. Every few moments he
would stop, listen, and peer about him on every side. Finally, after a
rather long upward climb, he knew he had reached a rock of some altitude.
He again fired his gun. The echoes soon died away, and there was no sound
except the low tinkle of the snowflakes through the bushes. He was just
about to push on, when, far down to the right and south of him, he
thought he saw a gleam of light. He looked long and eagerly, but in vain.
He passed over to that side of the ridge, and fired again; but there was
no response--nothing but the dim, ghostly snow on every side. Concluding
that it had been but a trick of the imagination, he was about to give up
the hope that had thrilled his heart, when feebly but unmistakably a ray
of light shot up, wavered, and disappeared.
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