e, and there is
no better comforter that the lone lost man can command.

The squirrel roasted in its hide proved a passable supper, and Rolf
curled up to sleep. The night would have been pleasant and uneventful,
but that it turned chilly, and when the fire burnt low, the cold
awakened him, so he had a succession of naps and fire-buildings.

Soon after dawn, he heard a tremendous roaring, and in a few minutes the
wood was filled again with pigeons.

Rolf was living on the country now, so he sallied forth with his bow.
Luck was with him; at the first shot he downed a big, fat cock. At the
second he winged another, and as it scrambled through the brush, he
rushed headlong in pursuit. It fluttered away beyond reach, half-flying,
half-running, and Rolf, in reckless pursuit, went sliding and tumbling
down a bank to land at the bottom with a horrid jar. One leg was twisted
under him; he thought it was broken, for there was a fearful pain in
the lower part. But when he pulled himself together he found no broken
bones, indeed, but an ankle badly sprained. Now his situation was truly
grave, for he was crippled and incapable of travelling.

He had secured the second bird, and crawling painfully and slowly back
to the fire, he could not but feel more and more despondent and gloomy
as the measure of his misfortune was realized.

"There is only one thing that can shame a man, that is to be afraid."
And again, "There's always a way out." These were the sayings that came
ringing through his head to his heart; one was from Quonab, the other
from old Sylvanne. Yes, there's always a way, and the stout heart can
always find it.

Rolf prepared and cooked the two birds, made a breakfast of one and put
the other in his pocket for lunch, not realizing at the time that his
lunch would be eaten on this same spot. More than once, as he sat, small
flocks of ducks flew over the trees due northward. At length the sky,
now clear, was ablaze with the rising sun, and when it came, it was in
Rolf's western sky.

Now he comprehended the duck flight. They were really heading southeast
for their feeding grounds on the Indian Lake, and Rolf, had he been able
to tramp, could have followed, but his foot was growing worse. It was
badly swollen, and not likely to be of service for many a day--perhaps
weeks--and it took all of his fortitude not to lie down and weep over
this last misfortune.

Again came the figure of that grim, kindly, strong old pionee