Drawing up the last ounces of
his strength he staggered on, remembering to keep his rifle protected by
the painted coat, and clinging also to the turkey.

He looked up at the heavens, but they gave no promise. They were without
a break in the massed clouds, and the snow poured down in an unceasing
white fall. The range of vision was so short that he could not tell the
character of country into which he was coming, and, presently, he struck
marshy ground, into which his moccasined feet sank deep, coming forth
wet and cold. It was a new danger, and he stamped his feet hard and
walked faster in an endeavor to keep the circulation going and to keep
them from freezing. It was a peril that he had not foreseen, and it
would, in truth, be the very irony of fate if, after so many miracles
had intervened to save him from pressing dangers, he should perish in a
premature snow storm.

Usually, one could find shelter of a sort in the wilderness. The forest
of the great valley had become in the course of ages so dense with
thickets and matted tangles of fallen trees that one did not have to go
far before coming to a lair into which he could creep. But now
everything of the kind evaded Henry. His eyes, almost blinded by the
snow, saw only the straight trunks of trees, and open ground that
offered no protection at all. Moreover, the chill from his wet feet, in
spite of all his efforts, was extending and he shivered.

But he would not despair. He might have had such moments, but they were
moments only, and he fought on, as those, whose souls are made of
courage, fight. Yet the wilderness became gloomier, more desolate and
more menacing than ever. The fall of snow was less heavy, but a bitter
wind rose and it came with an alternate shriek and moan. The air grew
colder and the chill of the wind struck into Henry's bones. Nevertheless
he struggled on in the darkening night, going he knew not where, nor to
what.

Courage and will can triumph over most things, but not over all things.
There comes a time when hour, place and circumstances seem to combine
against the individual, and such an hour had come for Henry. He searched
everywhere for some place in which he could lie until the storm had
passed, but it was always nothing, nothing, just the open forest, and
the driving wind, and the creeping chill which was steadily going into
all his bones.

At last, scarcely able to raise a foot, he sank down on a fallen log and
stared into the gl