a supply of firewood, chiefly dead branches, before the daylight should fail him; and with the knife he hacked down a few birch saplings, to mix with the dry wood and make his fire last longer. Then, using one of his snow-shoes as a shovel, he dug in the snow a trench about four feet deep, three feet wide, and seven or eight feet long. In one end of this trench he deposited an armful of green spruce branches to rest upon. At the other end he started his frugal fire.
In spite of the cold, which by now, with nightfall, had sunk down upon the voiceless world with redoubled intensity, there in the narrow depths of his trench McLaggan was almost warm. But hungry and exhausted as he was, he did not dare to lie down and sleep, lest in his sleep the fire should go out, the awful cold creep in upon him unawares, and his sleep change into death. Hunched over the fire he smoked and endlessly smoked, and in his mind retraced the steps of his journey, trying to decide at what point he had gone astray. At times he would turn his attention to cutting up the green birch sticks into handy lengths for his fire. Or he would vary the programme and cheat his craving appetite by melting some snow in his little kettle and making himself a weak but faintly aromatic tea of the birch twigs. And once in a while, when the deathly stillness seemed to close in too overwhelmingly upon his
