A first meeting in the wilderness is not characterized by formality. The
talk quickly became general, and the news of the Upper and Lower
Countries was swapped equitably back and forth. But the little the
newcomers had was soon over with, for they had wintered at Minook, a
thousand miles below, where nothing was doing. Montana Kid, however, was
fresh from Salt Water, and they annexed him while they pitched camp,
swamping him with questions concerning the outside, from which they had
been cut off for a twelvemonth.
A shrieking split, suddenly lifting itself above the general uproar on
the river, drew everybody to the bank. The surface water had increased
in depth, and the ice, assailed from above and below, was struggling to
tear itself from the grip of the shores. Fissures reverberated into life
before their eyes, and the air was filled with multitudinous crackling,
crisp and sharp, like the sound that goes up on a clear day from the
firing line.
From up the river two men were racing a dog team toward them on an
uncovered stretch of ice. But even as they looked, the pair struck the
water and began to flounder through.
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