Jeff's face was turned towards the north. The blindman's instinct was
coming to him. Far off white eddying drifts were rising over long
hillocks of snow. When he turned round again his face was troubled. It
grew more troubled, then it brightened up again, and he said to Hume:
"Captain, would you leave that book with me till you come back--that
about infirmities, dangers, and necessities? I knew a river-boss who used
to carry an old spelling-book round with him for luck. It seems to me as
if that book of yours, Captain, would bring luck to this part of the
White Guard, that bein' out at heels like has to stay behind."

Hume had borne the sufferings of his life with courage; he had led this
terrible tramp with no tremor at his heart for himself; he was seeking to
perform a perilous act without any inward shrinking; but Jeff's request
was the greatest trial of this critical period in his life.

Jeff felt, if he could not see, the hesitation of his chief. His rough
but kind instincts told him something was wrong, and he hastened to add:
"Beg your pardon, Mr. Hume, it ain't no matter. I oughtn't have asked you
for it. But it's just like me. I've been a chain on the leg of the White
Guard this whole tramp."

The moment of hesitation had passed before Jeff had said half-a-dozen
words, and Hume put the book in his hands with the words: "No, Jeff, take
it. It will bring luck to the White Guard. Keep it safe until I come
back."

Jeff took the book, but hearing a guttural "Ugh" behind him, he turned
round defiantly. Cloud-in-the-Sky touched his arm and said: "Good!
Strong-back book--good!" Jeff was satisfied.