Buck looked back for what seemed like the hundredth time that hour. The weaker members had dropped back, their panting breaths telling in the fixed puffs of fog that created ice on beards and mustaches and eyebrows. This wasn’t good, not good at all. He waved his hands above his head and shouted at them. “Keep up! Stay together!” He had to push them harder, knowing their strength would only ebb over the next unmerciful days. Praise God, Ellen was doing all right, even helping her brother when he floundered in a drift. Pride swelled his heart every time he looked at her. She was so . . . strong and steady, calm and helpful, seeing a need and meeting it the best she could. But their group had its weak members too. By nightfall two men had decided to return to the steamboat and pray for a short winter. As dusk settled on the land, Buck motioned for the group to gather around. “We’ll stop and camp for the night.
