The crackling of a frost-bitten tree startled him into stopping; the snapping of a twig under its weight of ice and snow sent strange thrills through him which left him almost sweating.

The sounds were repeated again and again as they advanced, until he became accustomed to them.

Yet at each new sound his fingers gripped tighter about his carbine and his heart beat a little faster.
Once or twice he spoke to the Indian, who understood no word he said and remained silent.

They built a fire and cooked their supper when it grew too dark to travel.
Later, when it became lighter, they went on hour after hour, through the night.

At dawn the trail was still old.