Yes!
they must push on at any price that night. Day was over now; Rolf
was leading at a steady trot. In his hand he held the long trace
of his toboggan, ten feet behind was Quonab with the short trace,
while Skookum trotted before, beside, or behind, as was dictated
by his general sense of responsibility.
It was quite dark now. There was no moon, the wooded shore was
black. Their only guide was the broad, wide reach of the river,
sometimes swept bare of snow by the wind, but good travelling at
all times. They were trotting and walking in spells, going five
miles an hour; Quonab was suffering, but Rolf was young and eager
to finish. They rounded another reach, they were now on the last
big bend, they were reeling off the miles; only ten more, and
Rolf was so stirred that, instead of dropping to the usual walk
on signal at the next one hundred yards spell, he added to his
trot. Quonab, taken unawares, slipped and lost his hold of the
trace. Rolf shot ahead and a moment later there was the crash of
a breaking air-hole, and Rolf went through the ice, clutched at
the broken edge and disappeared, while the toboggan was dragged
to the hole.
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