His snow shoes
were growing heavier and heavier, and back of his knees the tendons
seemed preparing to snap. He kept on, at last counting his steps. He was
determined to make a mile. He was ready to groan when a sudden twist in
the trail brought them out of the forest to the edge of a lake whose
frozen surface stretched ahead of them for miles. Mukoki stopped the
dogs. With a gasp David floundered to the sledge and sat down.
"Finding myself," he managed to say. "Just--finding myself!"
It was a triumph for him--the last half of that mile. He knew it. He
felt it. Through the white haze of his breath he looked out over the
lake. It was wonderfully clear, and the sun was shining. The surface of
the lake was like an untracked carpet of white sprinkled thickly with
tiny diamonds where the sunlight fell on its countless billions of snow
crystals. Three or four miles away he could see the dark edge of the
forest on the other side. Up and down the lake the distance was greater.
He had never seen anything like it. It was marvellous--like a dream
picture. And he was not cold as he looked at it. He was warm, even
uncomfortably warm. The air he breathed was like a new kind of fuel. It
gave him the peculiar sensation of feeling _larger_ inside; he seemed to
drink it in; it expanded his lungs; he could feel his heart pumping
with an audible sound.
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