Looking round, with his back to the wind, he noted that the shack had vanished, although he thought it was only a few yards off.

There was nothing visible, but when the Indian touched him he pulled himself together and struggled on again.
It was a little warmer when they plunged into the bush, but the snow was soft and deep, and they stumbled over fallen branches and fell into thickets.

Torn-off twigs rained upon their lowered heads, shadowy trunks loomed up and vanished, and Thirlwell could not tell where he was going; but the Indian plodded on, his white figure showing faintly through the snow.

At length, when Thirlwell was nearly exhausted, another sound mingled with the scream of the gale, and he knew it was the turmoil of the Grand Rapid, where the furious current did not freeze.

They were getting near the end of the journey, and he braced himself for an effort to reach Driscoll's shack.