After this, the distance traversed daily was reduced and rations were cut down to match. One day when the wind raged behind them, they made fourteen miles along a frozen creek; but more often they made eight or nine; and part of the time Graham carried his snowshoes and limped in his moccasins. His companions helped him as much as they could over the roughest ground; but the only effectual way of assisting a crippled man is to carry him, which they could not do. Their faces grew sterner and gaunter, but with grim restraint they husbanded the rapidly running out provisions, and one blustering morning they came upon the sled they had left on their outward journey, half covered with snow. The traces, though frozen hard, were still attached to it, and Andrew slipped them over his shoulders when Graham, wrapped in all their blankets, sat down on the sled. It was a relief to get rid of their loads, and for a while Andrew made a moderate pace. The wind had hardened the surface of the snow, and the runners slid along easily, but he found it different when he came to the next ascent. The trace hurt his chest, the weight he was hauling seemed to increase, his breathing got harder, his knees and shoulders ached. "You had better let me have hold," Carnally suggested. "I'll get off," said Graham. "I could hobble along if you fixed the back posts so I could lean on them." "Stay where you are!" Carnally bade him curtly. "We have to make good time and we're going faster with you on the sled." They altered the traces and plodded forward side by side, until the sled overturned on a steep slope and flung Graham off. For the next hour he had to walk while they struggled across rocky hummocks and through belts of small spruces, and his face was gray with pain when he resumed his place. Still, they made progress and felt more cheerful when they camped at night. "I allow we're four miles to the good on this stage," Carnally said. "That's a quarter of a day knocked off. With luck and a smooth trail, we're going through." Somehow they maintained the speed, though the struggle was almost unbearably hard, and one afternoon they nerved themselves to an extra effort as they toiled up a creek. It ran between rugged hills and the snow was good. They were badly worn out and Andrew had a distressing pain in his side, but he braced himself against the drag of the trace, watching the white hill-shoulders change their shapes ahead. They were on the Whitefish Creek, and the first provision cache was not far off. When they reached it they would rest and feast luxuriously. "Keep her going," urged Carnally "We want to make the island where the cache is before dark."