Explore "For the Allinson Honor" by Harold Bindloss on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The afternoon was nearly over and the frost intense when Andrew plodded up the frozen river with Carnally and Graham. The snow crunched with a squeaking sound beneath their moccasins, which Andrew had had specially made because ordinary boots are not adapted to the extreme cold of the North. On their western hand the pines stood out sharp and black against a coppery glare, and as they passed the wider openings the light struck dazzlingly into their aching eyes. Ahead the white riband of river led into a wilderness of rocks and stunted trees, but there was no sign of life in all the picture, and everything was very still.
The men were not heavily loaded, for most of their supplies had been sent on to the mine, but Andrew had found his pack a bad enough handicap on the long march up-river and had noticed with some concern that Graham seemed to feel the weight more than he did. The old man had lagged behind, but he now came up breathless.