To Build a Fire

From Fictionremix

Current revision as of 05:07, 31 March 2006

=== === It was nine o'clock on a cold morning when he left the main Yukon trail and forged onto a higher trail that went deeper into the timberland. The sky was clear of clouds as well as sunshine. This far north, the sun would not show itself for a few more days, and the man had grown accustomed to the eternal greyness. Mr. T

=== === As he looked behind him, all he could see was the white snow broken only by the trail that he had used. In the distance, it appeared to be nothing more than a mere dark hair. The mighty Yukon River lay a mile wide, and was covered by three feet of ice, and was covered by the same amount of snow. The trail that he had seen would travel 500 miles to Chilcoot Pass, Dyea and salt water to the south. And to the north it would travel And to the north it would travel 1000 miles to Nulato, and finally to Ok, you know what? I give up. I think you all get the point that I am trying to make. I don't know how to work my own computer, and I am the biggest idiot in all of honors english. But anyway I 'translated' the second paragraph.

Cory C.

=== === The distant hairline trail, the absence of the sun, and the tremendous cold left no impression on the man. Not that he was used to it, for this was his first winter in the land, but that he lacked imagination. He understood ideas, but not the significance of such ideas. Fifty degrees below zero was cold, but that was all. It did not cause him to reflect on the mortality of man, the ablility to only live within certain extremes of heat and cold, but only that fifty degrees below zero warned of frostbite that must be prevented by using mittens, warm boots, and thick socks. The fact that anything more could come from it being fifty degrees below zero never occured to him.

Jennifer P.

=== === The man turned to continue on, he spat into the air. It froze before it hit the ground. He spat again, and again it froze before hitting the ground. He knew that at fifty degrees below zero spit froze instantly on snow, but this spit had frozen in the air. Unquestionably it was colder than fifty degrees below zero – how much colder the man had no clue. But to the man the temperature didn’t matter. He was headed to a old place he owned, it was on the left fork of Henderson Creek. His boys were already there. His boys had come there over the divide of the Indian Creek country. He had come a different way to see if there was any way he could get wood from off of the Yukon islands. The man would be in the camp by six o’clock, a little after sunset, but his boys would be there with a fire and a hot dinner waiting for him. He already had lunch planned. It was under his shirt, wrapped in a handkerchief. It was the only way he could think to keep the biscuits form freezing. He smiled pleasantly to himself as he thought of the biscuits, each cut open and sopped in bacon grease, and each enclosing a generous slice of fried bacon.

Jenni Wheeler

He walked into the forest. He could hardly see the trail in front of him. A foot of snow had fallen since the last snomobile had passed over, and he was glad he didn't have one. As a matter of fact, he didn't have anything but his lunch in the brown paper sack he carried. He was surprised at how cold it was. It is very cold, the man thought, as he rubbed his numb nose and cheek-bones with his mittened hand. He was a warm-whiskered man, but his facial hair did not protect his cheeks or his nose from the frosty air.

=== === At the man’s heels trotted a dog, a big native husky, the proper wolf-dog, grey-coated and without any visible or temperamental difference from its brother, the wild wolf. The animal was depressed by the tremendous cold. It knew that it was no time for travelling. Its instinct told it a truer tale than was told to the man by the man’s judgment. In reality, it was not merely colder than fifty below zero; it was colder than sixty below, than seventy below. It was seventy-five below zero. Since the freezing-point is thirty-two above zero, it meant that one hundred and seven degrees of frost obtained. The dog did not know anything about thermometers. Possibly in its brain there was no sharp consciousness of a condition of very cold such as was in the man’s brain. But the brute had its instinct. It experienced a vague but menacing apprehension that subdued it and made it slink along at the man’s heels, and that made it question eagerly every unwonted movement of the man as if expecting him to go into camp or to seek shelter somewhere and build a fire. The dog had learned fire, and it wanted fire, or else to burrow under the snow and cuddle its warmth away from the air.

It was so cold that breath of the dog and the man was freezing to their faces. The dog's muzzle and eyelashes were white from the ice. The man's beard, face, and eyelashes were also white, but it had a glass-looking "beard" that was falling from his chin. It was the price he paid to chew tobacco. Since it was so cold, he was not able to spit very well, and as a result, it ran down his chin. Everyone who chewed tobacco knew this consequence. The man didn't think it was generally this cold, though...

Ashley S.

=== === He held on through the level stretch of woods for several miles, crossed a wide flat of nigger-heads, and dropped down a bank to the frozen bed of a small stream. This was Henderson Creek, and he knew he was ten miles from the forks. He looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock. He was making four miles an hour, and he calculated that he would arrive at the forks at half-past twelve. He decided to celebrate that event by eating his lunch there.

The dog continued on though discouraged. The trail was visible enough, and the man could still see the snow covered marks of the last runners. He could tell that this place hadn't been visited for a while, but kept going on. His thoughts only consisted of where he would eat, and if he would be in the camp with the boys. He realized however, that spech was impossible. He could not move his mouth due to the fact that it was covered in ice, he still chewd on his tobacco as if though he didn't notice.

Ragen B.

Once when he was thinking it occured to him that he had never experienced being this cold. He walked while rubbing his cheek-bones and his nose with his mittin. When he stopped rubbing his cheekbones, his cheekbones went numb with his nose. He was sure his cheeks would freeze, and he regretted not buying a nose strap. But that did not matter. But what were frosted cheeks? A little pain, it was never that serious.

=== === The man continued along the trail, being observant to what he was passing by. He was careful of where he was going, being cautious not to fall into danger. Suddenly, he stopped. He retraced his steps back from where he trailed before. It was obvious to him that the creek was frozen all the way to the bottom-no creek could have running water in weather 50 below zero. Yet, he knew that springs existed. In this weather, the springs run below the snow, and above the ice, and still don’t get frozen. Now he had found himself in a dangerous situation… in the midst of those springs. They were dangerous because it was impossible to tell their depth. They could be anywhere from a few millimeters, to a few feet deep. However, he kept continuing on his journey. Eventually, he found him self covered waist deep in water that seemed to be biting through the layers of his skin, ever so slowly and painfully. Yet, he kept walking.

Lori S.

=== === That was why he had shied in such panic. He had felt the give under his feet and heard the crackle of a snow-hidden ice-skin <It seems funny to have two hyphens, but maybe I'm dumb>. And to get his feet wet <to me this sounds really odd. Consider re-wording> in such a temperature meant trouble and danger. At the very least it meant delay, for he would be forced to stop and build a fire, and under its protection to bare his feet while he dried his socks and moccasins. He stood and studied the creek-bed and its banks, and decided that the flow of water came from the right. He reflected awhile, rubbing his nose and cheeks, then skirted to the left, stepping gingerly and testing the footing for each step. Once clear of the danger, he took a fresh chew of tobacco and swung along at his four-mile gait. Sarah Dahl

=== === During the next two hours he came upon many things looked like each other, that happened to be traps. Usually the snow above the hidden pools was lower than the rest, that showed, anyone who was looking, of the danger. Again, he was close to falling in; and again, suspecting danger, he made the dog go in front. The dog did't want to go. It stayed back until the man pushed it on to the ice, and then it went quickly across the snow. Suddenly it broke through, fell to one side, and moved to firmer footing. It had gotten it's legs and paws wet, and the water that was on it's legs quickly turned to ice. It made quickly tried to lick the ice off its legs, then fell down in the snow and began to bite at the ice that had formed between his toes. This was instinct. To allow the ice to stay would mean he would have sore feet. The dog did not know this. It only listened to the mysterious feeling that came from inside. But the man knew, having had experience in this way, and he took off the mitten from his right hand and helped remove the ice. The man did not expose his fingers for more than a minute, and was shocked how swiftly numbness attacked them. It was cold. He pulled on the mitten quickly, and beat his hand hard against his chest.

Brittany S

=== === The sun had been blocked out all day, but it had been a clear one none the less. He finally made it to the fork in the creeks and was happy with how fast he had made it. He thought to himself that if he kept it up he should be there by 6 tonight. As he went to pull out his lunch the cold bit at his skin, bringing him to the sharp realization of the weather. His fingers went numb and he quickly smacked them against his leg, bringing them back to life. The numbness quickly returned to his fingers as he sat down on a snow covered log to eat his lunch and so he tapped them again and shoved them back into his mitten and taking the other one out to eat. As he started to take a bite, the ice muzzle got in his way and he remembered that he had forgotten to get a fire going so everything could thaw out. He laughed at how stupid he had been, but just as he started to laugh he could feel the numbness coming back to his fingers already and then he noticed that his toes didn't sting anymore. Wondering whether they were numb or not he wiggled them and decided they were going numb as well.

Brandon K.

He quickly pulled on his mitten and stood up. Becoming frightened he tried to bring back the warmth to his feet by jumping up and down. It is dang cold, he thought. The man from Sulphur Creek was right, it sure does get cold in this country. I didn't believe him at the time but now I realize he was telling the truth, he thought to himself. He walked up and down stomping his feet and waving his arms until they regained their warmth. He then started to make a fire with matches and twigs form the undergrowth. At first he used small twigs then gradually he increased the size of the twig. Then in the protection of the fire he ate his biscuits. For a little while he was warm. The dog was happy with the fire, sitting close enough to be warm and far enough away to not get burned.

Lizzy Wallin

=== === When the man had finished, he filled his pipe and took his comfortable time over a smoke. Then he pulled on his mittens, settled the ear-flaps of his cap firmly about his ears, and took the creek trail up the left fork. The dog was disappointed and yearned back toward the fire. This man did not know cold. Possibly all the generations of his ancestry had been ignorant of cold, of real cold, of cold one hundred and seven degrees below freezing-point. But the dog knew; all its ancestry knew, and it had inherited the knowledge. And it knew that it was not good to walk abroad in such fearful cold. It was the time to lie snug in a hole in the snow and wait for a curtain of cloud to be drawn across the face of outer space whence this cold came. On the other hand, there was keen intimacy between the dog and the man. The one was the toil-slave of the other, and the only caresses it had ever received were the caresses of the whip-lash and of harsh and menacing throat-sounds that threatened the whip-lash. So the dog made no effort to communicate its apprehension to the man. It was not concerned in the welfare of the man; it was for its own sake that it yearned back toward the fire. But the man whistled, and spoke to it with the sound of whip-lashes, and the dog swung in at the man’s heels and followed after.

=== === Taking in a chew of tobacco caused a new amber beard to begin forming down his chin, flowing over his bottom lip as his breath cristalized over his facial hair. Keeping up his cautious survelance of the icey snow beneath his boots,he noticed that less springs lurked on the left side of the Henderson. And for almost half an hour, no signs of the deadly sping traps revealed themselves to his eyes. Then, on a patch of ground seemingly solid and safe to bare weight, he broke through the ice, plunging knee deep into the frigid water. Acting quickly, he recovered firm ground.

Hailee C.

He was angry and swore because he got his feet wet. He would have to stop and light a fire to warm and dry his feet. This was necessary to stay safe. By stopping, he knew it would delay his arrival with the boys at least an hour. He climbed up the bank of the stream, where he found dry wood for making a fire. He made a covering of big sticks on the snow to keep the fire dry. From his pocket, he pulled some dry bark. It burned very quickly. He fed the flame starting with small twigs and working the size up.

Ren G.

=== === He worked slowly, making sure not to make any mistakes. He knew he was in danger. As the flame got larger, he kept sticking in small twigs to keep it going. He squatted in the snow, pulling the twigs out from their entanglement in the brush and feeding directly to the flame. He knew he could not make a mistake. When it is seventy-five below zero, he can't afford to fail at building the fire-that is if his feet are wet. If his feet are dry, and he fails, he can run around awhile to restore the circulation in his feet. But, because his feet were wet he could not get the circulation going that easily. No matter how fast he runs, his feet will freeze if they are wet.

Katharine Nichols

=== === All this the man knew. The old man on Sulphur Creek had told him about it the previous fall, and now he was appreciating the advice. He had already lost all sensation in feet. To build the fire he had been forced to remove his mittens, and the fingers had quickly gone numb. His rate of four miles an hour had kept his heart pumping blood to the surface of his body and to all the his limbs. But the instant he stopped, the action of the pump slowed down. The cold of space struck the unprotected tip of the planet,and he, being on that unprotected tip, received the full force of the blow. The blood of his body shrank before it. The blood was alive, like the dog, and like the dog it wanted to hide away and cover itself up from the fearful cold. So long as he walked four miles an hour, he pumped that blood to the surface; but now it ebbed away and sank down into the depths of his body. His limbs were the first to feel its absence. His wet feet froze the faster, and his exposed fingers numbed faster, though they had not yet begun to freeze. Nose and cheeks were already freezing, while the skin all over his body chilled as it lost its blood.

=== === But he was safe. Toes and nose and cheeks would be only touched by the frost, for the fire was beginning to burn with strength. He was feeding it with twigs the size of his finger. In another minute he would be able to feed it with branches the size of his wrist, and then he could remove his wet foot-gear, and, while it dried, he could keep his naked feet warm by the fire, rubbing them at first, of course, with snow. The fire was a success. He was safe. He remembered the advice of the old-timer on Sulphur Creek, and smiled. The old-timer had been very serious in laying down the law that no man must travel alone in the Klondike after fifty below. Well, here he was; he had had the accident; he was alone; and he had saved himself. Those old-timers were rather womanish, some of them, he thought. All a man had to do was to keep his head, and he was all right. Any man who was a man could travel alone. But it was surprising, the rapidity with which his cheeks and nose were freezing. And he had not thought his fingers could go lifeless in so short a time. Lifeless they were, for he could scarcely make them move together to grip a twig, and they seemed remote from his body and from him. When he touched a twig, he had to look and see whether or not he had hold of it. The wires were pretty well down between him and his finger-ends.

=== === All of which counted for little. There was the fire, snapping and crackling and promising life with every dancing flame. He started to untie his moccasins. They were coated with ice; the thick German socks were like sheaths of iron half-way to the knees; and the mocassin strings were like rods of steel all twisted and knotted as by some conflagration. For a moment he tugged with his numbed fingers, then, realizing the folly of it, he drew his sheath-knife.

=== === But before he could cut the strings, it happened. It was his own fault or, rather, his mistake. He should not have built the fire under the spruce tree. He should have built it in the open. But it had been easier to pull the twigs from the brush and drop them directly on the fire. Now the tree under which he had done this carried a weight of snow on its boughs. No wind had blown for weeks, and each bough was fully freighted. Each time he had pulled a twig he had communicated a slight agitation to the tree—an imperceptible agitation, so far as he was concerned, but an agitation sufficient to bring about the disaster. High up in the tree one bough capsized its load of snow. This fell on the boughs beneath, capsizing them. This process continued, spreading out and involving the whole tree. It grew like an avalanche, and it descended without warning upon the man and the fire, and the fire was blotted out! Where it had burned was a mantle of fresh and disordered snow.

=== === The man was shocked. It was as though he had just heard his own sentence of death. For a moment he sat and stared at the spot where the fire had been. Then he grew very calm. Perhaps the old-timer on Sulphur Creek was right. If he had only had a trail-mate he would have been in no danger now. The trail-mate could have built the fire. Well, it was up to him to build the fire over again, and this second time there must be no failure. Even if he succeeded, he would most likely lose some toes. His feet must be badly frozen by now, and there would be some time before the second fire was ready.

=== === Such were his thoughts, but he did not sit and think them. He was busy all the time they were passing through his mind, he made a new foundation for a fire, this time in the open; where no treacherous tree could blot it out. Next, he gathered dry grasses and tiny twigs from the high-water flotsam. He could not bring his fingers together to pull them out, but he was able to gather them by the handful. In this way he got many rotten twigs and bits of green moss that were undesirable, but it was the best he could do. He worked methodically, even collecting an armful of the larger branches to be used later when the fire gathered strength. And all the while the dog sat and watched him, a certain yearning wistfulness in its eyes, for it looked upon him as the fire-provider, and the fire was slow in coming.

=== === When all was ready, the man reached in his pocket for a second piece of birch-bark. He knew the bark was there, and, though he could not feel it with his fingers, he could hear its crisp rustling as he fumbled for it. Try as he would, he could not clutch hold of it. And all the time, in his consciousness, was the knowledge that each instant his feet were freezing. This thought tended to put him in a panic, but he fought against it and kept calm. He pulled on his mittens with his teeth, and threshed his arms back and forth, beating his hands with all his might against his sides. He did this sitting down, and he stood up to do it; and all the while the dog sat in the snow, its wolf-brush of a tail curled around warmly over its forefeet, its sharp wolf-ears pricked forward intently as it watched the man. And the man as he beat and threshed with his arms and hands, felt a great surge of envy as he regarded the creature that was warm and secure in its natural covering.

=== === After a time he was aware of the first far-away signals of sensation in his beaten fingers. The faint tingling grew stronger till it evolved into a stinging ache that was excruciating, but which the man hailed with satisfaction. He stripped the mitten from his right hand and fetched forth the birch-bark. The exposed fingers were quickly going numb again. Next he brought out his bunch of sulphur matches. But the tremendous cold had already driven the life out of his fingers. In his effort to separate one match from the others, the whole bunch fell in the snow. He tried to pick it out of the snow, but failed. The dead fingers could neither touch nor clutch. He was very careful. He drove the thought of his freezing feet; and nose, and cheeks, out of his mind, devoting his whole soul to the matches. He watched, using the sense of vision in place of that of touch, and when he saw his fingers on each side the bunch, he closed them—that is, he willed to close them, for the wires were drawn, and the fingers did not obey. He pulled the mitten on the right hand, and beat it fiercely against his knee. Then, with both mittened hands, he scooped the bunch of matches, along with much snow, into his lap. Yet he was no better off.

=== === After some manipulation he managed to get the bunch between the heels of his mittened hands. In this fashion he carried it to his mouth. The ice crackled and snapped when by a violent effort he opened his mouth. He drew the lower jaw in, curled the upper lip out of the way, and scraped the bunch with his upper teeth in order to separate a match. He succeeded in getting one, which he dropped on his lap. He was no better off. He could not pick it up. Then he devised a way. He picked it up in his teeth and scratched it on his leg. Twenty times he scratched before he succeeded in lighting it. As it flamed he held it with his teeth to the birch-bark. But the burning brimstone went up his nostrils and into his lungs, causing him to cough spasmodically. The match fell into the snow and went out.

=== === The old-timer on Sulphur Creek was right, he thought in the moment of controlled despair that ensued: after fifty below, a man should travel with a partner. He beat his hands, but failed in exciting any sensation. Suddenly he bared both hands, removing the mittens with his teeth. He caught the whole bunch between the heels of his hands. His arm-muscles not being frozen enabled him to press the hand-heels tightly against the matches. Then he scratched the bunch along his leg. It flared into flame, seventy sulphur matches at once! There was no wind to blow them out. He kept his head to one side to escape the strangling fumes, and held the blazing bunch to the birch-bark. As he so held it, he became aware of sensation in his hand. His flesh was burning. He could smell it. Deep down below the surface he could feel it. The sensation developed into pain that grew acute. And still he endured it, holding the flame of the matches clumsily to the bark that would not light readily because his own burning hands were in the way, absorbing most of the flame.

=== === At last, when he could endure no more, he jerked his hands apart. The blazing matches fell sizzling into the snow, but the birch-bark was alight. He began laying dry grasses and the tiniest twigs on the flame. He could not pick and choose, for he had to lift the fuel between the heels of his hands. Small pieces of rotten wood and green moss clung to the twigs, and he bit them off as well as he could with his teeth. He cherished the flame carefully and awkwardly. It meant life, and it must not perish. The withdrawal of blood from the surface of his body now made him begin to shiver, and he grew more awkward. A large piece of green moss fell squarely on the little fire. He tried to poke it out with his fingers, but his shivering frame made him poke too far, and he disrupted the nucleus of the little fire, the burning grasses and tiny twigs separating and scattering. He tried to poke them together again, but in spite of the tenseness of the effort, his shivering got away with him, and the twigs were hopelessly scattered. Each twig gushed a puff of smoke and went out. The fire-provider had failed. As he looked apathetically about him, his eyes chanced on the dog, sitting across the ruins of the fire from him, in the snow, making restless, hunching movements, slightly lifting one forefoot and then the other, shifting its weight back and forth on them with wistful eagerness.

=== === The sight of the dog put a wild idea into his head. He remembered the tale of the man, caught in a blizzard, who killed a steer and crawled inside the carcass, and so was saved. He would kill the dog and bury his hands in the warm body until the numbness went out of them. Then he could build another fire. He spoke to the dog, calling it to him; but in his voice was a strange note of fear that frightened the animal, who had never known the man to speak in such way before. Something was the matter, and its suspicious nature sensed danger,—it knew not what danger but somewhere, somehow, in its brain arose an apprehension of the man. It flattened its ears down at the sound of the man’s voice, and its restless, hunching movements and the liftings and shiftings of its forefeet became more pronounced but it would not come to the man. He got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the dog. This unusual posture again excited suspicion, and the animal sidled mincingly away.

=== === The man sat up in the snow for a moment and struggled for calmness. Then he pulled on his mittens, by means of his teeth, and got upon his feet. He glanced down at first in order to assure himself that he was really standing up, for the absence of sensation in his feet left him unrelated to the earth. His erect position in itself started to drive the webs of suspicion from the dog’s mind; and when he spoke peremptorily, with the sound of whip-lashes in his voice, the dog rendered its customary allegiance and came to him. As it came within reaching distance, the man lost his control. His arms flashed out to the dog, and he experienced genuine surprise when he discovered that his hands could not clutch, that there was neither bend nor feeling in the lingers. He had forgotten for the moment that they were frozen and that they were freezing more and more. All this happened quickly, and before the animal could get away, he encircled its body with his arms. He sat down in the snow, and in this fashion held the dog, while it snarled and whined and struggled.

=== === But it was all he could do, hold its body encircled in his arms and sit there. He realized that he could not kill the dog. There was no way to do it. With his helpless hands he could neither draw nor hold his sheath-knife nor throttle the animal. He released it, and it plunged wildly away, with tail between its legs, and still snarling. It halted forty feet away and surveyed him curiously, with ears sharply pricked forward. The man looked down at his hands in order to locate them, and found them hanging on the ends of his arms. It struck him as curious that one should have to use his eyes in order to find out where his hands were. He began threshing his arms back and forth, beating the mittened hands against his sides. He did this for five minutes, violently, and his heart pumped enough blood up to the surface to put a stop to his shivering. But no sensation was aroused in the hands. He had an impression that they hung like weights on the ends of his arms, but when he tried to run the impression down, he could not find it.

=== === A certain fear of death, dull and oppressive, came to him. This fear quickly became poignant as he realized that it was no longer a mere matter of freezing his fingers and toes, or of losing his hands and feet, but that it was a matter of life and death with the chances against him. This threw him into a panic, and he turned and ran up the creek-bed along the old, dim trail. The dog joined in behind and kept up with him. He ran blindly, without intention, in fear such as he had never known in his life. Slowly, as he ploughed and floundered through the snow, he began to see things again—the banks of the creek, the old timber-jams, the leafless aspens, and the sky. The running made him feel better. He did not shiver. Maybe, if he ran on, his feet would thaw out; and, anyway, if he ran far enough, he would reach camp and the boys. Without doubt he would lose some fingers and toes and some of his face; but the boys would take care of him, and save the rest of him when he got there. And at the same time there was another thought in his mind that said he would never get to the camp and the boys; that it was too many miles away, that the freezing had too great a start on him, and that he would soon be stiff and dead. This thought he kept in the background and refused to consider. Sometimes it pushed itself forward and demanded to be heard, but he thrust it back and strove to think of other things.

=== === It struck him as curious that he could run at all on feet so frozen that he could not feel them when they struck the earth and took the weight of his body. He seemed to himself to skim along above the surface and to have no connection with the earth. Somewhere he had once seen a winged Mercury, and he wondered if Mercury felt as he felt when skimming over the earth.

=== === His theory of running until he reached camp and the boys had one flaw in it: he lacked the endurance. Several times he stumbled, and finally he tottered, crumpled up, and fell. When he tried to rise, he failed. He must sit and rest, he decided, and next time he would merely walk and keep on going. As he sat and regained his breath, he noted that he was feeling quite warm and comfortable. He was not shivering, and it even seemed that a warm glow had come to his chest and trunk. And yet, when he touched his nose or cheeks, there was no sensation. Running would not thaw them out. Nor would it thaw out his hands and feet. Then the thought came to him that the frozen portions of his body must be extending. He tried to keep this thought down, to forget it, to think of something else; he was aware of the panicky feeling that it caused, and he was afraid of the panic. But the thought asserted itself, and persisted, until it produced a vision of his body totally frozen. This was too much, and he made another wild run along the trail. Once he slowed down to a walk, but the thought of the freezing extending itself made him run again.

=== === And all the time the dog ran with him, at his heels. When he fell down a second time, it curled its tail over its forefeet and sat in front of him facing him curiously eager and intent. The warmth and security of the animal angered him, and he cursed it till it flattened down its ears appeasingly. This time the shivering came more quickly upon the man. He was losing in his battle with the frost. It was creeping into his body from all sides. The thought of it drove him on, but he ran no more than a hundred feet, when he staggered and pitched headlong. It was his last panic. When he had recovered his breath and control, he sat up and entertained in his mind the conception of meeting death with dignity. However, the conception did not come to him in such terms. His idea of it was that he had been making a fool of himself, running around like a chicken with its head cut off—such was the simile that occurred to him. Well, he was bound to freeze anyway, and he might as well take it decently. With this new-found peace of mind came the first glimmerings of drowsiness. A good idea, he thought, to sleep off to death. It was like taking an anæsthetic. Freezing was not so bad as people thought. There were lots worse ways to die.

=== === He pictured the boys finding his body next day. Suddenly he found himself with them, coming along the trail and looking for himself. And, still with them, he came around a turn in the trail and found himself lying in the snow. He did not belong with himself any more, for even then he was out of himself, standing with the boys and looking at himself in the snow. It certainly was cold, was his thought. When he got back to the States he could tell the folks what real cold was. He drifted on from this to a vision of the old-timer on Sulphur Creek. He could see him quite clearly, warm and comfortable, and smoking a pipe.

=== === “You were right, old hoss; you were right,” the man mumbled to the old-timer of Sulphur Creek.

=== === Then the man drowsed off into what seemed to him the most comfortable and satisfying sleep he had ever known. The dog sat facing him and waiting. The brief day drew to a close in a long, slow twilight. There were no signs of a fire to be made, and, besides, never in the dog’s experience had it known a man to sit like that in the snow and make no fire. As the twilight drew on, its eager yearning for the fire mastered it, and with a great lifting and shifting of forefeet, it whined softly, then flattened its ears down in anticipation of being chidden by the man. But the man remained silent. Later, the dog whined loudly. And still later it crept close to the man and caught the scent of death. This made the animal bristle and back away. A little longer it delayed, howling under the stars that leaped and danced and shone brightly in the cold sky. Then it turned and trotted up the trail in the direction of the camp it knew, where were the other food-providers and fire-providers.