digging the sled out of the last
night's snow-drift, the Boy found to his horror that he was
weaker--yes, a good deal. As they went on he kept stumbling. The
Colonel fell every now and then. Sometimes he would lie still before he
could pull himself on his legs again.

In these hours they saw nothing of the grim and splendid waste; nothing
of the ranks of snow-laden trees; nothing of sun course or of stars,
only the half-yard of dazzling trail in front of them, and
--clairvoyant--the little store of flour and bacon that seemed to
shrink in the pack while they dragged it on.

Apart from partial snow-blindness, which fell at intervals upon the
Colonel, the tiredness of the eyes was like a special sickness upon
them both. For many hours together they never raised their lids,
looking out through slits, cat-like, on the world.

They had not spoken to each other for many days--or was it only
hours?--when the Colonel, looking at the Boy, said:

"You've got to have a face-guard. Those frostbites are eating in."

"'Xpect so."

"You ought to stop it. Make a guard."

"Out of a snow-ball, or chunk o' ice?"

"Cut a piece out o' the canvas o' the bag." But he didn't.

The big sores seemed such small matters beside the vast overshadowing
doubt, Shall we come out of this alive?--doubt never to be openly
admitted by him, but always knocking, knocking----

"You can't see your own face," the Colonel persisted.

"One piece o' luck, anyhow."

The old habit of looking after the Boy died hard. The Colonel
hesitated. For the last time he would remonstrate. "I used to think
frost_bite_ was a figure o' speech," said he, "but the teeth were set
in _your_ face, sonny, and they've bitten deep; they'll leave awful
scars."

"Battles do, I b'lieve." And it was with an effort that he remembered
there had been a time when they had been uncomfortable because they
hadn't washed their faces. Now, one man was content to let the very
skin go if he could keep the flesh on his face, and one was little
concerned even for that. Life--life! To push on and come out alive.

The Colonel had come to that point where he resented the Boy's staying
power, terrified at the indomitable young life in him. Yes, the Colonel
began to feel old, and to think with vague wrath of the insolence of
youth.

Each man fell to considering what he would do, how he would manage if
he were alone. And there ceased to be any terror in the thought.

"If it wasn't for him"