Though he was trying hard not to show it, the wound was clearly causing Lawrence considerable discomfort. Constant movement over rough terrain had started it bleeding again. But there was no prospect of rest and recuperation. If the weather stayed as it was, it could take two days to reach their goal, and any deterioration would lengthen the journey considerably. They could not afford to drag it out longer by halting for frequent rest breaks. Telling themselves that the quicker they reached the lines, the sooner a doctor could take a look at Lawrence’s wound, they pressed on, not even stopping to eat.

Chewing strips of pemmican as they walked had helped keep the hunger pangs at bay, but their dwindling supplies wouldn’t sustain them for the rest of the journey. Hawkwood was keeping a watchful eye out for game. There wasn’t time to rig traps and catch prey, but they had weapons and ammunition, making it possible to hunt for food. They also had the tools to light a fire. Water wasn’t a problem, either, not with so much snow about. And there were plenty of streams and they had canteens. The main concern was finding shelter.

Their chances of finding another ruined cabin were so remote as to be nonexistent. They needed to find something though; the prospect of spending a night in the open did not make the heart sing. Hawkwood hoped some refuge would present itself soon, because from the sky’s sullen tint, the earlier snowfall had only been a foretaste of what was to come.

By late morning the sun had yet to show itself. While the frost had eventually disappeared, the woods remained snow-bound and eerily gloomy, wrapped in an expectant hush, as if the day was holding its breath. Occasionally a bird’s twitter would interrupt the silence, but for the most part the only sound, apart from their breathing, was the soft crunching of snow beneath their boots.

The deer trail gradually petered out. Snow-capped rocks and boulders began to break up the surface ahead of them. Piled atop and against one another as if by some giant hand, they reminded Hawkwood of the ruined fortifications they’d sailed past on their voyage up the lake. He thought longingly of his stinking cubbyhole on the Snake; that had been the last time he’d had anything approaching a decent night’s sleep.