He was traveling without a dog-sledge, and had only a pack-outfit.
Breault, the third man, had regained his wind, and was listening to him.
One look at his dark, thin face told McKay that he was the wilderness man of the three.

He was staring at Jolly Roger in a strange sort of way.

And then, as if catching himself, he nodded, and began rubbing his frosted face with handfuls of snow.
Porter had thrown off his heavy coat, and was unpacking one of the dunnage sacks.

He and the girl seemed to have suffered less than the other two.

Jo, the girl, was looking at him.