There were the same cobwebs of frost, the same signs to show that DeBar and his Mackenzie hound had preceded them a long time before.

During the next day and night they spent sixteen hours on their snow-shoes and the lacework of frost in DeBar's trail grew thinner.

The next day they traveled fourteen and the next twelve, and there was no lacework of frost at all.

There were hot coals under the ashes of DeBar's fires.

The crumbs of his bannock were soft.