By and by Harry began to wonder if he was dreaming. The snow under foot seemed to be trodden and the walking easier. Then he began to have what he thought were fleeting glimpses of shadowy forms that surrounded them, yet never came near enough to be really seen. He spoke of this to Joe, who had been plugging along in a sort of weary daze behind the sled while Harry led the way for the dogs. Joe waked up at this, and together they examined the ground. There certainly were countless tracks of hoofs under foot, though the rapidly falling snow blotted them out very soon. “They are caribou tracks,” said Harry. “But where are the caribou?” asked Joe. “All about us,” replied Harry. “I keep thinking I see them, but the snow is so thick and blinding that I can’t be sure. See!” They had stopped during this consultation, and, looking directly back, they could see dim antlered forms that divided as they approached, and went to the left and right of them, passing on into the blur of snow. An immense herd of caribou, perhaps miles long, was drifting before the gale, and by some strange chance had inclosed them within itself. The animals, stupid, and dazed by the snow, paid little attention to them, but pressed aimlessly on, as if blown by the storm. It was a strange experience, this being the centre of an invisible herd that made a path for them in the wilderness of snow. It lasted for another hour, and yet they had hardly a glimpse of the deer. It came to an end when they reached a broad gully that marked the course of a stream. In the shelter of the bank of this the snow had drifted deep, and here the tracks swerved and left them in the snow. “We’d better camp here,” said Joe. “We’ve had enough for one day, and here is a good spot.” The weary dogs dropped panting at the word, but Joe took a rifle from the sled. “It seems a shame,” he said, “after they’ve broken a path for us for hours, but I want one of those caribou.” He stepped back a few rods into the fog of the storm, and in a moment a single shot sounded. After making the dogs fast, Harry went back to him. A fine buck lay dead with a bullet through his heart. “I could have had more,” said Joe, “but one is all we can carry with our other luggage.”