not knowin' the country; an' when we get back home again we'll have a nice lot o' news about them people an' the trail in, for the Government."
"That'll do," Sergeant Meek rebuked. "'Tis for him to lead and for us to follow; and he'll do the thinking."
They had marched fifteen miles, the first day, through the storm, with all on foot because the horses were getting unable to carry anything but the packs. In fact, for some days past it had been more comfortable to walk than to ride.
All that night it had snowed, and was still snowing in the morning. The men had slept under one blanket or robe apiece, in the snow. The little tent for the lieutenant and the doctor and Stub sagged with the weight.
"My gracious, but this is hard on the horses," Baroney said. "They paw and paw, to find one mouthful—and on their backs the ravens take many mouthfuls."
This day there was no marching. The men had all they could do to keep the fires going, and not freeze. John Sparks, who was a hunter, went out, but saw nothing. By evening the snow was a foot deep on the level—pretty tough for bare feet exposed in gaping shoes, and even for damp moccasins.
During the bitter night the sky cleared. It was to
