08-an odyssey of the north

AN ODYSSEY OF THE NORTH.ITHE SLEDS WERE SINGING their eternal lament to the creaking of theharness and the tinkling bells of the leaders; but the men and dogswere tired and made no sound. The trail was heavy with new-fallensnow, and they had come far, and the runners, burdened with flint-likequarters of frozen moose, clung tenaciously to the unpacked surfaceand held back with a stubbornness almost human. Darkness was comingon, but there was no camp to pitch that night. The snow fell gentlythrough the pulseless air, not in flakes, but in tiny frost crystalsof delicate design. It was very warm- barely ten below zero- and the...

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