stood in the most unconcerned way, holding each other by the hand,
their merry eyes shining from their wistful faces while their bare legs
and feet were buried in the snow. Though they wore nothing but little
blanket shirts, what healthy, happy children they appeared to be!

Then out upon a lake we swung where the wind-packed snow made easy
going. Here the heavy sleds slid along as if loadless, and we broke
into a run. On rounding a point we saw a band of woodland caribou trot
off the lake and enter the distant forest. By the time we reached the
end of the lake, and had taken to the shelter of the trees, dusk was
creeping through the eastern woods and the rabbits had come out to
play. They were as white as the snow upon which they ran
helter-skelter after one another. Forward and backward they bounded
across the trail without apparently noticing the dogs. Sometimes they
passed within ten feet of us. The woodland seemed to swarm with them,
and no wonder, for it was the seventh year, the year of Northland game
abundance, when not only rabbits are most numerous, but also all the
other dwellers of the wilderness that prey upon them. Already,
however, the periodical plague had arrived. When I stopped to adjust a
snowshoe thong I counted five dead hares within sight; next year
starvation would be stalking the forest creatures.


CAMPING IN THE SNOW

While the sunset glow was rapidly fading, the brigade halted to make
camp for the night. All were to sleep in the open, for dog brigades
never carry tents but bivouac on the snow with nothing but a blanket
between the sleeper and the Aurora Borealis--though the thermometer may
fall to sixty below zero. Some of the men moved off with axes in their