that flashed upon him now in
the wailing and twisting of the storm. And then he laughed, for it occurred
to him quickly that the idea would die--with himself. He might find the
cabin, but he would not make the effort. Once more he would fight alone and
for himself. The Spark returned to him, loyally. He buttoned himself up
closely, saw that his snowshoes were securely fastened, and struck out once
more with his back to the storm. He was at least a trifle better off for
meeting with the flesh and blood of his kind.

The clump of timber thinned out, and Roscoe struck out boldly into the low
bush. As he went, he wondered what would happen in the cabin. He believed
that Henry, of the four, would not pull through alive, and that Croker
would come out best. It was not until the following summer that he learned
the facts of Henry's madness, and of the terrible manner in which he
avenged himself on Croker by sticking a knife under the latter's ribs.

For the first time in his life Roscoe found himself in a position to
measure accurately the amount of energy contained in a slice of bacon and a
cold biscuit. It was not much. Long before noon his old weakness was upon
him again. He found even greater difficulty in dragging his feet over the
snow, and it seemed now as though all ambition had left him, and that even
the fighting spark was becoming disheartened. He made up his mind to go on
until the arctic gloom of night began mingling with the storm; then he
would stop, build a fire, and go to sleep in its warmth. He would never
wake up, and there would be no sensation of discomfort in his dying.

During the afternoon he passed out of the scrub into a rougher country. His
progress was slower, but more comfortable, for at times he found himself
protected from the wind. A gloom darker and more sombre than that of the
storm was falling about him when he came to what appeared to be the end of
the Barren. The earth dropped away from under his feet, and far below him,
in a ravine shut out from wind and storm, he saw the black tops of thick
spruce. What life was left in him leaped joyously, and he began to scramble
downward. His eyes were no longer fit to judge distance or chance, and he
slipped. He slipped a dozen times in the first five minutes, and then there
came the time when he did not make a recovery, but plunged down the side of
the mountain like a rock. He stopped with a terrific jar, and for the first
time during the fall he wan