dead warrior wore a good blanket, which Dick now
took, together with his rifle and ammunition, but he left all the
rest. Then he dragged the warrior from the sheltered space to a
deep snow bank, where he sank him out of sight. He even took the
trouble to heap more snow upon him in the form of a burial, and
he felt a great relief when he could no longer see the savage
brown features.

He went back to his sheltered space, and, upon the single
unprotected side threw up a high wall of snow, so high that it
would serve as a wind-break. Then he began to search for fallen
brushwood. Meanwhile, it was turning colder, and a bitter wind
began to moan across the plain.

Chapter XII
The Fight with Nature

Dick realized suddenly that he was very cold. The terrible
pursuit was over, ending mortally for the pursuer, but he was
menaced by a new danger. Sheltered though his little valley was,
he could, nevertheless, freeze to death in it with great ease.
In fact, he had begun already to shiver, and he noticed that
while his feet were dry, the snow at last had soaked through his
deerskin leggings and he was wet from knee to ankle. The snow
had ceased, although a white mist hovered in a great circle and
the chill of the wind was increasing steadily. He must have a
fire or die.

He resumed his search, plunging into the snow banks under the
cottonwoods and other trees, and at last he brought out dead
boughs, which he broke into short pieces and piled in a heap in
the center of the open space. The wood was damp on the outside,
of course, but he expected nothing better and was not discouraged.
Selecting a large, well-seasoned piece, he carefully cut away all
the wet outside with his strong hunting knife. Then he whittled
off large quantities of dry shavings, put them under the heap of
boughs, and took from his inside a pocket a small package of
lucifer matches.

Dick struck one of the matches across the heel of his shoe. No
spark leaped up. Instead, his heart sank down, sank further,
perhaps, than it had ever done before in his life. The match was
wet. He took another from the pocket; it, too, was wet, and the
next and the next and all. The damp from the snow, melted by the
heat of his body, had penetrated his buckskin coat, although in
the excitement of pursuit and combat he had not noticed it.

Dick was in despair. He turned to the snow a face no less
white. Had he escaped all the dangers of the Sioux for t