The girl felt her way to the woman and passed her hands over her face. “Do not fear for me, Mammy. I shall take great care.” The woman took the child in her arms and, rocking herself to and fro, held her there in a passionate embrace. The young man turned hastily away on his quest for dry wood, for already the sun had finished his brief winter course and with dying rays was glaring angrily at the swiftly triumphing night. The evening meal consisted of a watery stew, the nourishing ingredients of which were a pork rind, the last remnant of their meat supply, some fragments of hard tack, and some spare bones with dark red ragged remnants of flesh attached, which the woman had thrown into the pot but as to the nature of which none of them made inquiry. In other circumstances, Paul at least would have turned with loathing from the revolting mess, but tonight he forced himself to devour with ravenous haste the portion assigned him by the woman. Eat he must if he were to carry his party through the last twenty miles. The sick woman ate a morsel of food, drank a little of the soup, then, gripped with agonising pains, refused further nourishment. Some bones saved from the last camp were thrown to the dogs who with much savage snarling and fighting soon cleared them away. The fire, originally laid upon a foundation of green spruce logs and now burned down to glowing embers, was drawn almost within the enclosure of the shelter and kept alive with judicious care. Within the recesses of the shelter the party disposed themselves for the night. The girl crept within the woman’s fur rug and soon fell asleep. The boy huddled close beside them and, as near the fire as he dared, sat fighting off the overpowering drowsiness that threatened every moment to subdue him. “You go to sleep, Peter,” said Paul. “I’ll take the first watch. I’ll promise to wake you.” “Word of honour?” said the boy. “Word of honour!” replied Paul. The boy sat a little longer, then reluctantly snuggled down among the brush and instantly sank into a dead sleep.