Hour after hour they struggled on, hand in hand, without a thought of
where they were going. Twice Mooka fell and lay still, but was dragged
to her feet and hurried onward again. The little hunter's own strength
was almost gone, when a low moan rose steadily above the howl and hiss
of the gale. It was the spruce woods, bending their tops to the blast
and groaning at the strain. With a wild whoop Noel plunged forward, and
the next instant they were safe within the woods. All around them the
flakes sifted steadily, silently down into the thick covert, while the
storm passed with a great roar over their heads.
In the lee of a low-branched spruce they stopped again, as though by a
common impulse, while Noel lifted his hands. "Thanks, thanks,
_Keesuolukh_; we can take care of ourselves now," the brave little heart
was singing under the upstretched arms. Then they tumbled into the snow
and lay for a moment utterly relaxed, like two tired animals, in that
brief, delicious rest which follows a terrible struggle with the storm
and cold.
First they ate a little of their bread and fish to keep up their
spirits; then--for the storm that was upon them might last for
days--they set about preparing a shelter.
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