At dusk there was no sign of his
new friend. Just before dark he climbed a dead stub at the summit of a
high ridge and half a dozen miles of the unbroken barren stretched out
before his eyes.
At six o'clock he stopped to cook some tea and warm his meat and
bannock. After that he traveled until ten, then built a big fire and
gave up the pursuit until morning. At dawn he started again, and not
until the forenoon was half gone did he find where the doctor had
stopped to camp.
The ashes of his fire were still warm beneath and the snow was trampled
hard around them. In the north the clouds were piling up, betokening a
storm such as it was not well for a man in Philip's condition of fatigue
to face. Already some flavor of the approaching blizzard was carried to
him on the wind.
So he hurried on. Fortunately the storm died away after an hour or two
of fierce wind. Still he did not come up with McGill, and he camped
again for the night, cursing the little professor who was racing on
ahead of him. It was noon of the following day when he came in sight of
the few log cabins at Fort Smith, situated in a treeless and
snow-smothered sweep of the plain on the other side of the Slave. He
crossed the river and hurried past the row of buildings that led to post
headquarters. In front of the company office were gathered a little
crowd of men, women and children.
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