They turned aside. The wind now, instead of on the right cheek,
was square in their faces. Rolf went forward increasing his pace
till he was as far ahead as was possible without being out of
sight. After a mile their way led downward, the timber was
thicker, the wind less, and the air no more befogged with flying
snow. Rolf came to a long, deep trench that wound among the
trees; the snow at the bottom of it was very hard. This was what
he expected; the trail muffled under new, soft snow, but still a
fresh trail and leading to the camp that Skookum had winded.
He turned and made the sign for them to halt and wait. Then
strode cautiously along the winding guide line.
In twenty minutes the indications of a settlement increased, and
the scout at length was peering from the woods across the open
down to a broad stream on whose bank was a saw mill, with the
usual wilderness of ramshackle shanties, sheds, and lumber piles
about.
There was no work going on, which was a puzzle till Rolf
remembered it was Sunday. He went boldly up and asked for the
boss. His whole appearance was that of a hunter and as such the
boss received him.
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