The snow made tracking the boar a simple task. The beast did not seem incovenienced by the great drifts deposited by the blizzard. He had plowed through with ease. I kept my snow slung across my back and walked through the ditches and tunnels he had left in his wake.
I arrived at the shore of Lake Superior. Perhaps a mile out on the lake, I saw the great boar, a black blotch against the white of ice and snow. Two miles farther out I could make out the sled with Father Beacene and the children. The boar was gaining.