As the day wore
toward noon, her spirits drooped. She was tired physically, and this
reacted upon her courage.
The warmer weather was spoiling the trail. It became so soft and mushy
that though snowshoes were needed, they could not be worn on account of
the heavy snow which clung to them every time a foot was lifted. They
wore mukluks, but Sheba was wet to the knees. The spring had gone from
her step. Her shoulders began to sag.
For some time Gordon's eye had been seeking a good place for a day camp.
He found it in a bit of open timber above the trail, and without a word
he swung his team from the path.
"Where are you going?" demanded Macdonald.
"Going to rest for an hour," was Elliot's curt answer.
Macdonald's jaw clamped. He strode forward through the snow beside the
trail. "We'll see about that."
The younger man faced him angrily. "Can't you see she is done, man?
There is not another mile of travel in her until she has rested."
The hard, gray eyes of the Alaskan took in the slender, weary figure
leaning against the sled. On a soft and mushy trail like this, where
every footstep punched a hole in the loose snow, the dogs could not
travel with any extra weight.
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