In the spruce
thicket he stood some moments to regain his breath and strength.
"Now what next?" he asked himself. Although the thicket broke the force
of the wind, something must be done, and quickly. Night was coming on
and that meant an even intenser cold. His hands were numb. His hunting
jacket was but slight protection against the driving wind and the
bitter cold. If he could only light a fire! A difficult business in this
tumultuous whirlwind and snow. He had learned something of this art,
however, from his winter's experience. He began breaking from the spruce
trees the dead dry twigs. Oh for some birch bark! Like a forgotten
dream it came to him that from the tree top he had seen above the spruce
thicket the tops of some white birch trees purpling under the touch of
spring.
"Let's see! Those birches must be further to my left," he said,
recalling their position. Painfully he forced his way through the
scrubby underbrush. His foot struck hard against an obstruction that
nearly threw him to the ground. It was a jutting rock. Peering through
the white mass before his eyes, he could make out a great black,
looming mass. Eagerly he pushed forward. It was a towering slab of rock.
Following it round on the lee side, he suddenly halted with a shout of
grateful triumph.
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