breathe; his eyes
throbbed and burned, but at least it was life. He pressed his face to
the cool earth.

Yet unconsciousness was sweeping him again. He would feel himself
drifting, then with all the faltering power of his will he would
struggle back. But perhaps this sweet oblivion was only sleep. His
nerves were crying for rest. Once more he floated, and the hours of
night crept by.

When Bill wakened again, the last pale glimmer of the lighted smoke was
gone. He was bewildered at first, confusing reality with his dreams,
but soon the full memory of the night's events swept back to him. His
faculties had rallied now, his thought was clearer. The few hours that
he had rested had been his salvation.

Yet it was still night. He raised his hands before his eyes but could
not see even their outline. And the cabin was still full of smoke. But
it seemed somewhat less dense now, less pungent. But the smarting in
his eyes was more intense.

The fire had evidently burned down and out. He struggled to open his
eyes, then gazed around the walls in search of the opening in the door.
But he could not see the reflection of an ember. He fought his way to
his feet.

His fumbling hands encountered the log walls; he then groped about till
he found the plank door. His gloved hands smarted, but their sense of
touch did no seem blunted. He had never known a darker night! Now that
he found the hole in the door, it was curious that he could not see one
star gleaming through. But perhaps clouds had overspread.

A measure of heat against his face told him that coals were still
glowing under the ashes, yet he might be able to creep through. It was
worth a trial: the smoke in the cabin was still almost unbearable. His
muscles were more at his command now; with a great lurch he sprang up
and thrust head and shoulders through the opening.

The hot ashes punished his face, and his hand encountered hot coals as
he thrust them through. Yet with a mighty effort he pushed on until his
wrists touched the icy snow. He knew that he was safe.

He stood erect, scarcely believing in his deliverance. And the snow had
crusted during the night; it would almost hold him up without snowshoes.
As soon as the light came, he could mush on toward his Twenty-three Mile
cabin. It would be a cold and exhausting march, but he could make it.
The night was bitter now, assailing him like a scourge the moment he
left the warm cabin; and the t