While the three were making ready, with a running accompaniment of grunts and groans at refractory pieces of apparel, the night without became darker, and the snow fell thicker, so that when they issued suddenly out of their warm abode, and emerged into the sharp frosty air, which blew the snow-drift into their eyes, they felt a momentary desire to give up the project and return to their comfortable quarters.
“What a dismal-looking night it is!” said the accountant, as he led the way along the wooden platform towards the gate of the fort.
“Very!” replied Hamilton, with an involuntary shudder.
“Keep up your heart,” said Harry, in a cheerful voice; “you’ve no notion how your mind will change on that point when you have walked a mile or so and got into a comfortable heat. I must confess, however, that a little moonshine would be an improvement,” he added, on stumbling, for the third time, off the platform into the deep snow.
“It is full moon just now,” said the accountant, “and I think the clouds look as if they would break soon. At any rate, I’ve been at North River so often that I believe I could walk out there blindfold.”
As he spoke they passed the gate, and diverging to the right, proceeded, as well as the imperfect light permitted, along the footpath that led to the forest.
The walk continued—Frozen toes—An encampment in the snow.
After quitting York Fort, the three friends followed the track leading to the spot where the winter’s firewood was cut. Snow was still falling thickly, and it was with some difficulty that the accountant kept in the right direction. The night was excessively dark, while the dense fir forest, through which the narrow road ran, rendered the gloom if possible more intense.
When they had proceeded about a mile, their leader suddenly came to a stand.
“We must quit the track now,” said he; “so get on your snow-shoes as fast as you can.”
Hitherto they had carried their snow-shoes under their arms, as the beaten track along which they travelled rendered them unnecessary; but now, having to leave the path and pursue the remainder of their journey through deep snow, they availed themselves of those useful machines, by means of which the inhabitants of this part of North America are enabled to journey over many miles of trackless wilderness, with nearly as much ease as a sportsman can traverse the moors in autumn, and that over snow so deep that one hour’s walk through it _without_ such aids would completely exhaust the stoutest trapper, and advance him only a mile or so on his journey. In other words, to walk without snow-shoes would be utterly impossible, while to walk with them is easy and agreeable. They are not used after the manner of skates, with a _sliding_, but a _stepping_ action, and their sole use is to support the wearer on the top of snow, into which without them he would sink up to the waist. When we say that they support the wearer on the _top_ of the snow, of course we do not mean that they literally do not break the surface at all. But the depth to which they sink is comparatively trifling, and varies according to the state of the snow and the season of the year. In the woods they sink frequently about six inches, sometimes more, sometimes less, while on frozen rivers, where the snow is packed solid by the action of the wind, they sink only two or three inches, and sometimes so little as to render it preferable to walk without them altogether. Snow-shoes are made of a light, strong framework of wood, varying from three to six feet long by eighteen and twenty inches broad, tapering to a point before and behind, and turning up in front. Different tribes of Indians modify the form a little, but in all essential points they are the same. The framework is filled up with a netting of deer-skin threads, which unites lightness with great strength, and permits any snow that may chance to fall upon the netting to pass through it like a sieve.