Again the man filled his pipe and sat gazing out upon the whirling void. "Bill, let's try it," said a voice at his elbow. "She's waiting for us--and worrying." Carmody glanced quickly into the determined little face. The boy had voiced his own thoughts to the letter, and he remained long without speaking, carefully weighing the chances. "It's better than staying here," pursued the youngster; "'Cause, if we don't snufficate, we'll starve to death, or freeze. We can tie us to each other so we won't get lost, and all we got to do is stick to the river. I can make it if you can," he added naively. Bill grinned, and then his eyes became serious and he began methodically to stow the remains of the roast cat into his pockets. "It's going to be an awful pull, kid. You are a man, now, and I'll give it to you straight--maybe we'll make it, and maybe we won't. But I'd hate to 'snufficate'--and she _is_ worrying. We'll try it--and God help us, if we don't keep the river." The skin of the lynx was cut into strips and fashioned into a rawhide line which Bill made fast to their belts, leaving plenty of slack to allow free use of the rackets. The rifle was left in the cave, and, muffled to the ears, the two stepped out into the storm. Bill judged it to be well after noon when a sudden tightening of the line brought him to an abrupt halt. Many times during the long hours in which they forged slowly ahead had the line gone taut as the boy fell in the snow, but each time it was followed by a wriggling and tugging, and the youngster scrambled gamely to his feet and floundered on in the wake of his big friend. But this time Carmody waited in vain for the movement of the line that would tell him that the boy was regaining his feet--the line remained taut, and Bill turned and groped in the snow. He lifted the boy to his feet, but the small body sagged limply against his own, and the head rolled weakly. He shook him roughly and, with his lips close to the boy's ear, shouted words of encouragement. But his only answer was a dull look from the half-closed eyes, and a sleepily muttered jumble of words, in which he made out: "Can't make it--all in--go on--she does love you." Again and again he tried to rouse him, but all to no purpose; the boy had battled bravely to the end of his endurance, and now only wanted to be let alone. Bill sat beside him in the snow and, sheltering him as best he could from the sting of the wind-driven particles, produced a piece of the meat from his pocket. The boy gnawed it feebly, and the food revived him somewhat, so that for a few rods he staggered on, but the line again tightened, and this time the man knew that it was useless to attempt to arouse his little companion. Hurriedly removing his mackinaw, he wrapped it around the body of the boy and, by means of a "squaw hitch" sling, swung him to his back. The boy's dangling rackets hindered his movement, and he slashed the thongs and left them in the snow.