"How many miles a day could we make, besides hunting and getting our food ?" "Not more than twelve on an average," Kit thought.
"Suppose it to be seven hundred miles, that would take us near sixty days," Raed remarked; "seventy, counting out Sundays." "We never could do that in the world!" Wade exclaimed.

"It would take us till midwinter, in this country! We should starve! We should freeze to death!" "Couldn't very well do both," Kit observed rather dryly.
"The journey would be well-nigh impossible, I expect," Raed remarked.
"On getting in from the coast, we should probably meet with no sea-fowl, no seals: in fact, I hardly know what we should be able to get for game.

I have heard that caribou-deer are common in Labrador; but they are, as we know from experience in the wilderness about Mount Katahdin, very difficult to kill.

And then our cartridges!" "We might possibly attach ourselves to some party of Esquimaux going southward," Kit suggested.
"And be murdered by them for our guns and knives," exclaimed Wade.
"Oh, no! not so bad as that, I should hope.

But let's go to sleep now, and discuss this to-morrow." There was something horrible to our feelings in this thought of our perfect isolation from the world.