nd down his cave, making now and then excursions into the storm to
replenish his fire. On sharpened sticks slices of venison were cooking
for his supper. Outside the storm raged with greater violence than ever
and into the cave the bitter cold penetrated, effectually neutralizing
the warmth of the little fire, for the wood was hard to get and a larger
fire he could not afford.

He looked at his watch and was amazed to find it only five o'clock. How
long could he maintain this fight? His heart sank at the prospect of
the long night before him. He sat down upon the rock close beside his
cooking venison and in a few moments was fast asleep.

He awoke with a start and found that the fire had crept along a jutting
branch and had reached his fingers. He sprang to his feet. The fire lay
in smouldering embers, for the sticks were mere brushwood. A terrible
fear seized him. His life depended upon the maintaining of this fire.
Carefully he assembled the embers and nursed them into bright flame.
At all costs he must keep awake. A further excursion into the woods for
fuel thoroughly roused him from his sleep. Soon his fire was blazing
brightly again.

Consulting his watch, he found that he must have slept half an hour. He
determined that in order to keep himself awake and to provide against
the growing cold he would lay in a stock of firewood, and so he began a
systematic search for fallen trees that he might drag to his shelter.

As he was setting forth upon his search he became aware of a new sound
mingling with the roaring of the storm about him, a soft, pounding,
rhythmic sound. With every nerve strained he listened. It was like the
beating of hoofs. He ran out into the storm and, holding his hands
to his ears, bent forward to listen. Faintly over the roaring of the
blizzard, and rising and falling with it, there came the sound of
singing.

"Am I mad?" he said to himself, beating his head with his hands. He
rushed into the cave, threw upon the fire all the brushwood he had
gathered, until it sprang up into a great glare, lighting up the cave
and its surroundings. Then he rushed forth once more to the turn of the
rock. The singing could now be plainly heard.

"Three cheers for the red, white--Get on there, you variously coloured
and multitudinously cursed brutes!--Three cheers for the red--Hie there,
look out, Little Thunder! They are off to the left."

"Hello!" yelled Cameron at the top of his voice. "Hello, there!"

"