The snowmobile wailed in lamenting tones, mingled with the rattle of the reins and the clanging of bells tied around the necks of the leading dogs; but people and animals were tired, so they did not bother to speak. The trail lay under a thick layer of freshly fallen snow. They had come a long way, and the skates were heavy under the rock-heavy mounds of venison, clinging to the unfrozen snow and slowing stubbornly as if on cue. Night fell, but that night they had no intention of camping. Snow fell in the smooth sky, not as ice, but into tiny crystals of all shapes and sizes. It's really warm - just 10 degrees below zero - and everyone feels comfortable. Meyers and Bettles have turned their noses over their ears, and Malemute Kid* has even taken off his gloves.