The decamping redskins had left a fair share of dried meat, with two rabbits which hung over the fire. Crawford and Frontin quieted their hunger, then lighted pipes and smoked in silence. Crawford fully realized the difficulty of finding the Star Woman in this wilderness; the very thought was oppressive, hopeless. A fortnight of snow-travel was not only vague, but implied great distances. “I made a mistake,” he said, and at this admission Frontin shot him a look. “When I left Maclish alive, I took for granted that the Star Woman lived among the Dacotah, or close to them. So, as Maclish was bound to follow us, the future looked safe. As it now turns out, nothing is certain. Well, no matter! Have you any idea of what the month might be? I’ve quite lost track.” Frontin held a brand to his pipe. Then he held his hand up in air and waited a moment. “The month is April,” he said, so positively that Crawford regarded him in surprise. “How do you know?” “A snowflake came down on my hand, and was rain before it more than touched the skin.” A slight hiss from the embers emphasized the words, and Crawford straightened up. The storm was indeed close at hand. From the dark forest was coming a queer stir and rustle, then Crawford felt the touch of snow on his cheek. He leaped to his feet. “Quick--our chance! If those rascals had only waited! In another hour it will be raining. Get our stuff together; we must travel along the ice until we can’t lift a foot! If we go fast and far enough, the trail will be covered.” “Ah!” said Frontin. “I have just recollected something important.” “What, then?” said Crawford impatiently. “When Standing Bull delivered that belt to Maclish, he stated where the Star Woman lived--and the red Scot caught the words.” “What of it?” “Nothing.” Frontin rose, shrugged, and smiled thinly. “These stiff moccasins! But better stiff shoes than stiff toes. Ready--belay all! I’d give a year of life to be on the ocean again.” The two men started into the darkness, feeling their way by the broken trail which the Dacotah had left. Ten minutes later they had gained the open sweep of the river below, while slushy rain pelted them and the storm burst with a rush and a wild howl. Until past midnight they pushed on, following the river-ice; then, too spent to crawl another rod and soaked to the skin, they curled up beneath a dripping spruce and slept in utter exhaustion until the grey dawn broke. Once more forward, along the trail of the river under driving squalls of cold rain, until by afternoon they were forced to leave this easy road. The heavy rainfall, combined with sluices of melted snow from the hillsides, formed a knee-deep stream above the ice and sent them staggering through slushy snow toward higher ground. There, amid a thick copse of trees, they dared to kindle a fire with the rusty heart of a dead birch and some dry wood from beneath an old stump; and made a shelter of boughs.