pounded the one hand, he never ceased from rubbing his nose and
cheeks with the other.

"It's too cold to travel, anyway," he said. He spoke aloud, after
the manner of men who are much by themselves. "Only a fool would
travel at such a temperature. If it isn't eighty below, it's
because it's seventy-nine."

He pulled out his watch, and after some fumbling got it back into
the breast pocket of his thick woollen jacket. Then he surveyed
the heavens and ran his eye along the white sky-line to the south.

"Twelve o'clock," he mumbled, "A clear sky, and no sun."

He plodded on silently for ten minutes, and then, as though there
had been no lapse in his speech, he added:

"And no ground covered, and it's too cold to travel."

Suddenly he yelled "Whoa!" at the dogs, and stopped. He seemed in
a wild panic over his right hand, and proceeded to hammer it
furiously against the gee-pole.

"You - poor - devils!" he addressed the dogs, which had dropped
down heavily on the ice to rest. His was a broken, jerky
utterance, caused by the violence with which he hammered his numb
hand upon the wood. "What have you done anyway that a two-legged
other animal should come along, break you to harness, curb all your
natural proclivities, and make slave-beasts out of you?"