oil　paper；　disposing　of　one　bunch　in　his　empty　tobacco　pouch；　of
  another　bunch　in　the　inside　band　of　his　battered　hat；　of　a　third
  bunch　under　his　shirt　on　the　chest。　　This　accomplished；　a　panic
  came　upon　him；　and　he　unwrapped　them　all　and　counted　them　again。
  There　were　still　sixty…seven。
  He　dried　his　wet　foot…gear　by　the　fire。　　The　moccasins　were　in
  soggy　shreds。　　The　blanket　socks　were　worn　through　in　places；　and
  his　feet　were　raw　and　bleeding。　　His　ankle　was　throbbing；　and　he
  gave　it　an　examination。　　It　had　swollen　to　the　size　of　his　knee。
  He　tore　a　long　strip　from　one　of　his　two　blankets　and　bound　the
  ankle　tightly。　　He　tore　other　strips　and　bound　them　about　his　feet
  to　serve　for　both　moccasins　and　socks。　　Then　he　drank　the　pot　of
  water；　steaming　hot；　wound　his　watch；　and　crawled　between　his
  blankets。
  He　slept　like　a　dead　man。　　The　brief　darkness　around　midnight　came
  and　went。　　The　sun　arose　in　the　northeast　…　at　least　the　day　dawned
  in　that　quarter；　for　the　sun　was　hidden　by　gray　clouds。
  At　six　o'clock　he　awoke；　quietly　lying　on　his　back。　　He　gazed
  straight　up　into　the　gray　sky　and　knew　that　he　was　hungry。　　As　he
  rolled　over　on　his　elbow　he　was　startled　by　a　loud　snort；　and　saw　a
  bull　caribou　regarding　him　with　alert　curiosity。　　The　animal　was
  not　mere　than　fifty　feet　away；　and　instantly　into　the　man's　mind
  leaped　the　vision　and　the　savor　of　a　caribou　steak　sizzling　and
  frying　over　a　fire。　　Mechanically　he　reached　for　the　empty　gun；
  drew　a　bead；　and　pulled　the　trigger。　　The　bull　snorted　and　leaped
  away；　his　hoofs　rattling　and　clattering　as　he　fled　across　the
  ledges。
  The　man　cursed　and　flung　the　empty　gun　from　him。　　He　groaned　aloud
  as　he　started　to　drag　himself　to　his　feet。　　It　was　a　slow　and
  arduous　task。
  His　joints　were　like　rusty　hinges。　　They　worked　harshly　in　their
  sockets；　with　much　friction；　and　each　bending　or　unbending　was
  accomplished　only　through　a　sheer　exertion　of　will。　　When　he
  finally　gained　his　feet；　another　minute　or　so　was　consumed　in
  straightening　up；　so　that　he　could　stand　erect　as　a　man　should
  stand。
  He　crawled　up　a　small　knoll　and　surveyed　the　prospect。　　There　were
  no　trees；　no　bushes；　nothing　but　a　gray　sea　of　moss　scarcely
  diversified　by　gray　rocks；　gray　lakelets；　and　gray　streamlets。　　The
  sky　was　gray。　　There　was　no　sun　nor　hint　of　sun。　　He　had　no　idea　of
  north；　and　he　had　forgotten　the　way　he　had　come　to　this　spot　the
  night　before。　　But　he　was　not　lost。　　He　knew　that。　　Soon　he　would
  come　to　the　land　of　the　little　sticks。　　He　felt　that　it　lay　off　to
  the　left　somewhere；　not　far　…　possibly　just　over　the　next　low　hill。
  He　went　back　to　put　his　pack　into　shape　for　travelling。　　He　assured
  himself　of　the　existence　of　his　three　separate　parcels　of　matches；
  though　he　did　not　stop　to　count　them。　　But　he　did　linger；　debating；
  over　a　squat　moose…hide　sack。　　It　was　not　large。　　He　could　hide　it
  under　his　two　hands。　　He　knew　that　it　weighed　fifteen　pounds；　…　as
  much　as　all　the　rest　of　the　pack；　…　and　it　worried　him。　　He　finally
  set　it　to　one　side　and　proceeded　to　roll　the　pack。　　He　paused　to
  gaze　at　the　squat　moose…hide　sack。　　He　picked　it　up　hastily　with　a
  defiant　glance　about　him；　as　though　the　desolation　were　trying　to
  rob　him　of　it；　and　when　he　rose　to　his　feet　to　stagger　on　into　the
  day；　it　was　included　in　the　pack　on　his　back。
  He　bore　away　to　the　left；　stopping　now　and　again　to　eat　muskeg
  berries。　　His　ankle　had　stiffened；　his　limp　was　more　pronounced；
  but　the　pain　of　it　was　as　nothing　compared　with　the　pain　of　his
  stomach。　　The　hunger　pangs　were　sharp。　　They　gnawed　and　gnawed
  until　he　could　not　keep　his　mind　steady　on　the　course　he　must
  pursue　to　gain　the　land　of　little　sticks。　　The　muskeg　berries　did
  not　allay　this　gnawing；　while　they　made　his　tongue　and　the　roof　of
  his　mouth　sore　with　their　irritating　bite。
  He　came　upon　a　valley　where　rock　ptarmigan　rose　on　whirring　wings
  from　the　ledges　and　muskegs。　　Ker　…　ker　…　ker　was　the　cry　they
  made。　　He　threw　stones　at　them；　but　could　not　hit　them。　　He　placed
  his　pack　on　the　ground　and　stalked　them　as　a　cat　stalks　a　sparrow。
  The　sharp　rocks　cut　through　his　pants'　legs　till　his　knees　left　a
  trail　of　blood；　but　the　hurt　was　lost　in　the　hurt　of　his　hunger。
  He　squirmed　over　the　wet　moss；　saturating　his　clothes　and　chilling
  his　body；　but　he　was　not　aware　of　it；　so　great　was　his　fever　for
  food。　　And　always　the　ptarmigan　rose；　whirring；　before　him；　till
  their　ker　…　ker　…　ker　became　a　mock　to　him；　and　he　cursed　them　and
  cried　aloud　at　them　with　their　own　cry。
  Once　he　crawled　upon　one　that　must　have　been　asleep。　　He　did　not
  see　it　till　it　shot　up　in　his　face　from　its　rocky　nook。　　He　made　a
  clutch　as　startled　as　was　the　rise　of　the　ptarmigan；　and　there
  remained　in　his　hand　three　tail…feathers。　　As　he　watched　its　flight
  he　hated　it；　as　though　it　had　done　him　some　terrible　wrong。　　Then
  he　returned　and　shouldered　his　pack。
  As　the　day　wore　along　he　came　into　valleys　or　swales　where　game　was
  more　plentiful。　　A　band　of　caribou　passed　by；　twenty　and　odd
  animals；　tantalizingly　within　rifle　range。　　He　felt　a　wild　desire
  to　run　after　them；　a　certitude　that　he　could　run　them　down。　　A
  black　fox　came　toward　him；　carrying　a　ptarmigan　in　his　mouth。　　The
  man　shouted。　　It　was　a　fearful　cry；　but　the　fox；　leaping　away　in
  fright；　did　not　drop　the　ptarmigan。
  Late　in　the　afternoon　he　followed　a　stream；　milky　with　lime；　which
  ran　through　sparse　patches　of　rush…grass。　　Grasping　these　rushes
  firmly　near　the　root；　he　pulled　up　what　resembled　a　young　onion…
  sprout　no　larger　than　a　shingle…nail。　　It　was　tender；　and　his　teeth
  sank　into　it　with　a　crunch　that　promised　deliciously　of　food。　　But
  its　fibers　were　tough。　　It　was　composed　of　stringy　filaments
  saturated　with　water；　like　the　berries；　and　devoid　of　nourishment。
  He　threw　off　his　pack　and　went　into　the　rush…grass　on　hands　and
  knees；　crunching　and　munching；　like　some　bovine　creature。
  He　was　very　weary　and　often　wished　to　rest　…　to　lie　down　and　sleep；
  but　he　was　continually　driven　on　…　not　so　much　by　his　desire　to
  gain　the　land　of　little　sticks　as　by　his　hunger。　　He　searched
  little　ponds　for　frogs　and　dug　up　the　earth　with　his　nails　for
  worms；　though　he　knew　in　spite　that　neither　frogs　nor　worms　existed
  so　far　north。
  He　looked　into　every　pool　of　water　vainly；　until；　as　the　long
  twilight　came　on；　he　discovered　a　solitary　fish；　the　size　of　a
  minnow；　in　such　a　pool。　　He　plunged　his　arm　in　up　to　the　shoulder；
  but　it　eluded　him。　　He　reached　for　it　with　both　hands　and　stirred
  up　the　milky　mud　at　the　bottom。　　In　his　excitement　he　fell　in；
  wetting　himself　to　the　waist。　　Then　the　water　was　too　muddy　to
  admit　of　his　seeing　the　fish；　and　he　was　compelled　to　wait　until
  the　sediment　had　settled。
  The　pursuit　was　renewed；　till　the　water　was　again　muddied。　　But　he
  could　not　wait。　　He　unstrapped　the　tin　bucket　and　began　to　bale　the
  pool。　　He　baled　wildly　at　first；　splashing　himself　and　flinging　the
  water　so　short　a　distance　that　it　ran　back　into　the　pool。　　He
  worked　more　carefully；　striving　to　be　cool；　though　his　heart　was
  pounding　against　his　chest　and　his　hands　were　trembling。　　At　the
  end　of　half　an　hour　the　pool　was　nearly　dry。　　Not　a　cupful　of　water
  remained。　　And　there　was　no　fish。　　He　found　a　hidden　crevice　among
  the　stones　through　which　it　had　escaped　to　the　adjoining　and　larger
  pool　…　a　pool　which　he　could　not　empty　in　a　night　and　a　day。　　Had
  he　known　of　the　crevice；　he　could　have　closed　it　with　a　rock　at　the
  beginning　and　the　fish　would　have　been　his。
  Thus　he　thought；　and　crumpled　up　and　sank　down　upon　the　wet　earth。
  At　first　he　cried　softly　to　himself；　then　he　cried　loudly　to　the
  pitiless　desolation　that　ringed　him　around；　and　for　a　long　time
  after　he　was　shaken　by　great　dry　sobs。
  He　built　a　fire　and　warmed　himself　by　drinking　quarts　of　hot　water；
  and　made　camp　on　a　rocky　ledge　in　the　same　fashion　he　had　the　night
  before。　　The　last　thing　he　did　was　to　see　that　his　matches　were　dry
  and　to　wind　his　watch。　　The　blankets　were　wet　and　clammy。　　His
  ankle　pulsed　with　pain。　　But　he　knew　only　that　he　was　hungry；　and
  through　his　restless　sleep　he　dreamed　of　feasts　and　banquets　and　of
  food　served　and　spread　in　all　imaginable　ways。
  He　awoke　chilled　and　sick。　　There　was　no　sun。　　The　gray　of　earth
  and　sky　had　become　deeper；　more　profound。　　A　raw　wind　was　blowing；
  and　the　first　flurries　of　snow　were　whitening　the　hilltops。　　The
  air　about　him　thickened　and　grew　white　while　he　made　a　fire　and
  boiled　more　water。　　It　was　wet　snow；　half　rain；　and　the　flakes　were
  large　and　soggy。　　At　first　they　melted　as　soon　as　they　came　in
  contact　with　the　earth；　but　ever　more　fell；　covering　the　ground；
  putting　out　the　fire；　spoiling　his　supply　of　moss…fuel。
  This　was　a　signal　for　him　to　s