“I hate it all,” North replied as he drew forth his knife, and set to work upon the moose. “Nature, as you call it, is always upsetting one’s plans. Look what a mess it has got us into here.”
“Master Tennyson said,” Rolfe reminded,
“‘I curse not nature, no, nor death,
For nothing is that errs from law.’”
“Poetry again!” the sergeant growled. “I thought you were completely cured. Well, I guess Master Tennyson would have done some cursing if he had lived in a country such as this. Here, hold back this leg while I strip off the hide.”
Marion watched the men until their task was completed. They then returned to their camping-place, carrying with them the skin of the moose, and large pieces of meat. The fire was replenished, and the three sat down to rest.
“We must get to The Gap as soon as possible,” the sergeant began. “And to do so, we need snow-shoes. Tom, you get to work and cut up that skin into long strips as narrow as you can. I am going to look for some suitable wood. We shall have to manufacture our own outfit.”
“What! make snow-shoes?” the constable asked in surprise.
“Certainly. They will be clumsy affairs, I admit, but they will serve our purpose. Haven’t I told you how I made a pair years ago when my dogs made a meal of the sinews?”
“But you had the frames left, sergeant.”
“That’s true. But as I haven’t frames now, I am going to make them. I wish to goodness I had an axe. It is difficult to do anything with nothing but a
