ughs. No wind had blown for weeks, and each bough was fully
freighted. Each time he had pulled a twig he had communicated a slight
agitation to the tree--an imperceptible agitation, so far as he was
concerned, but an agitation sufficient to bring about the disaster. High
up in the tree one bough capsized its load of snow. This fell on the
boughs beneath, capsizing them. This process continued, spreading out
and involving the whole tree. It grew like an avalanche, and it
descended without warning upon the man and the fire, and the fire was
blotted out! Where it had burned was a mantle of fresh and disordered
snow.

The man was shocked. It was as though he had just heard his own sentence
of death. For a moment he sat and stared at the spot where the fire had
been. Then he grew very calm. Perhaps the old-timer on Sulphur Creek
was right. If he had only had a trail-mate he would have been in no
danger now. The trail-mate could have built the fire. Well, it was up
to him to build the fire over again, and this second time there must be
no failure. Even if he succeeded, he would most likely lose some toes.
His feet must be badly frozen by now, and there would be some time before
the second fire was ready.

Such were his thoughts, but he did not sit and think them. He was busy
all the time they were passing through his mind, he made a new foundation
for a fire, this time in the open; where no treacherous tree could blot
it out. Next, he gathered dry grasses and tiny twigs from the high-water
flotsam. He could not bring his fingers together to pull them out, but
he was able to gather them by the handful. In this way he got many
rotten twigs and bits of green moss that were undesirable, but it was the
best he could do. He worked methodically, even collecting an armful of
the larger branches to be used later when the fire gathered strength. And
all the while the dog sat and watched him, a certain yearning wistfulness
in its eyes, for it looked upon him as the fire-provider, and the fire
was slow in coming.

When all was ready, the man reached in his pocket for a second piece of
birch-bark. He knew the bark was there, and, though he could not feel it
with his fingers, he could hear its crisp rustling as he fumbled for it.
Try as he would, he could not clutch hold of it. And all the time, in
his consciousness, was the knowledge that each instant his feet were
freezing. This thought tended to put him in a pa