Under him the broad, steel runners of the sledge made a cold, creaking sound as they slipped over the snow that lay on the ice of the lake; he heard the swift _tap_, _tap_, _tap_ of the dogs' feet, their panting breath that was almost like laughter, low throat whines, and the steady swish of the snow shoes ahead.

Beyond those sounds a vast silence encompassed him.

He looked out into it, east and west to the dark rims of forest, north and south over the distance of that diamond-sprinkled _tundra_ of unbroken white.

He drew out his pipe, loaded it with tobacco, and began to smoke.
The bitterness of the weed was gone.

It was delicious.