When again he ran beside the dogs, in a long pull uphill, the sense of personal effort comforted him. He was doing something. Once the toe of one of his snowshoes caught in the snaky root of a big spruce and he fell ponderously, without a word, and picked himself up again. Dimly he was conscious that it had injured him a little, but he scarcely felt it. It was like some hurt received in the heat and passion of battle, that a man never really feels till the excitement has passed. His team had kept on, galloping fast, but he never called to them, knowing that harder ground would presently slow them. And he ran on, his great limbs appearing to possess the strength of machinery wrought of steel and iron, while his enormous chest hoarsely drew in and cast forth great clouds. But he was not working beyond his power, merely getting the best he knew out of the thews that made him more efficient than most men, when it came to the toil of the wilds. He knew better than to play himself out so that he would arrive exhausted and unable to contend with the whole of his might. He was conscious as he ran that he would arrive nearly unbreathed and ready for any fray. And after he had swept off the intruders he would look upon the face of his friend, the man who for months had shared food with him, and the scented bedding of the woods, and the toil, and the downpours, and the clouds of black flies and mosquitoes, and who had always smiled through fair days and foul, and who, at the risk of his life, had saved him. And that friendship was so strong that it must help the sick man. How could one be ill with a friend near by who had so much strength to give away, such determination to make all things well, such fierce power to contend with all inimical things? He would take him in his arms and bid him be of good cheer and courage, and the man would respond, would smile, would feel that strength being added to his own, so that he would soon be well again. All this might be deepest folly, and was not formulated as we have been compelled to put it down in these pages. Rather it was but a simple trust, a faith based on love and hope, a belief originating in the mind of one of a nature so trusting and inclined to goodness that until the last moment he would never believe in the victory of powers of evil. So Stefan caught up with his dogs again and stepped on the toboggan, without stopping them, and the great trunks of forest giants seemed to slip by him swiftly, while here and there, by dint of some formation of hillside or gorge, his ears grew conscious of the far-away roar of the great falls. From a little summit he saw the cloud of rising vapor, all of a mile away. At every turn he peered ahead, keenly disappointed on each occasion, for the party was not in sight. So he urged the dogs faster. The big sleigh must surely be just ahead, beyond the next turn. "Oh, if dey touch one hair of de head of Hugo, den God pity dem!" he cried out.