He went on thus for hours,
skirting down toward the cliffs that contained "The Alcove." He
rested a while in the afternoon and ate the last of his rabbit,
but before twilight he reached the creek, and stood at the hidden
path that led up to their home.
Henry sat down behind thick bushes and took off his snowshoes.
To one who had never come before, the whole place would have
seemed absolutely desolate, and even to one not a stranger no
sign of life would have been visible had he not possessed
uncommonly keen eyes. But Henry had such eyes. He saw the
faintest wisp of smoke stealing away against the surface of the
cliff, and he felt confident that all four were there. He
resolved to surprise them.
Laying the shoes aside, he crept so carefully up the path that he
dislodged no snow and made no noise of any kind. As be gradually
approached "The Alcove" he beard the murmur of voices, and
presently, as he turned an angle in the path, he saw a beam of
glorious mellow light falling on the snow.
But the murmur of the voices sent a great thrill of delight
through him. Low and indistinct as they were, they had a
familiar sound. He knew all those tones. They were the voices
of his faithful comrades, the four who had gone with him through
so many perils and hardships, the little band who with himself
were ready to die at any time, one for another.
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