"Get down out of the wind; here's the fur robe!" cried a voice he recognized. "We came back as soon as we had thrown off the load."
George remembered very little about the remainder of the journey, but at last the sledge stopped where a warm glow of light shone out into the snow. Getting up with some trouble he reached the homestead door and walked heavily into the room where he sank, gasping, into a chair. He felt faint and dizzy, he could scarcely breathe; but those sensations grew less troublesome as he recovered from the violent change of temperature. Throwing off his furs, he noticed that Flett sat smoking near the stove.
"Here's some coffee," said the constable. "It's pretty lucky Grierson found you. I can't remember a worse night."
George drank the coffee. He still felt heavy and partly dazed; his mind was lethargic, and his hands and feet tingled painfully with the returning warmth. He knew that there was something he ought to tell Flett, but it was a few minutes before he could think clearly.
"I met a team near the bluff and lost it again almost immediately," he mumbled finally.
Flett's face became intent.
"Did the men who were with it see you? Which way were they going?"
"No," said George sleepily. "Anyway, though I called I didn't get an answer. I think they were going west."
"And there's no homestead for several leagues, except Langside's shack.
They'll camp there sure."
"I don't see why they shouldn't," George remarked with languid indifference.