They stretched the tent in the evergreen thicket, and after supper they sat in its mouth in the glow of the fire. Its crackle drowned out the voices of the wilderness about them,--such accusations as the Red Gods pour out upon the unworthy. And for all their shelter they were wretched and terrified, crushed by the might of the wilderness about them,--futile things that were the scorn of even the beasts. "Of course we'll never find the bodies," Lounsbury suggested at last. "No chance, that I can see. The winter's come to stay. We won't be able to get any men from Bradleyburg to help us look for 'em. They couldn't get through the snow." "You think--" Lounsbury's voice wavered, "you think--we can get back all right ourselves?" "Sure. That is, if we start first thing to-morrow. There's a clear trail through the snow most of the way--our own trail, comin' out. But it will be hard goin' and not safe to wait." "Then I suppose--the horses will be sent down below, because of the snow. That's another reason why they can't even search for the bodies." "Yes. Of course they may float down to the Yuga and be seen somewhere by the Indians. But not much chance." They lighted their pipes, and the horror of the tragedy began slowly to pass from them. The blinding snow and the cold and their own discomfort occupied all their thoughts. There was only one ray of light,--that in the morning they could turn back out of the terrible wilderness, down toward the cities of men. They didn't try to sleep. The snow and the cold and the shrieking wind made rest an impossibility. They did doze, however, between times that they rose to cut more fuel for the fire. The hours seemed endless. Darkness still lay over the river when they went again to their toil. Lounsbury, himself offered to cook breakfast and tried to convince himself the act entitled him to praise. In reality, he was only impatient to hasten their departure. Vosper packed the hungry horses, slyly depositing portions of their supplies and equipment in the evergreen thickets to lighten his own work. He further lightened the packs by putting a load on Mulvaney. And they climbed down to the water's edge to glance once more at the turbulent stream. "No use of waiting any more," Lounsbury said at last. "Of course not. Get on your horse." Then they rode away, these two worthy men, back toward the settlements. Some of the pack horses--particularly the yellow Baldy and his kind--moved eagerly when they saw that their masters had changed directions. But Vosper had to urge Mulvaney on with oaths and blows. VIII In Virginia's first moment of wakening she could not distinguish realities from dreams. All the experiences of the night before seemed for the moment only the adventures of a nightmare. But disillusionment came quickly. She opened her eyes to view the cabin walls, and the full dreadfulness of her situation swept her in an instant.