ort to walk, for his foot was
extremely painful and his leg getting sore. As he did not know how far
off the camp was, it seemed prudent to save the food he had left, and he
limped on, his lips tight-set.

The snow-covered ice was smooth, but the bends of the river increased the
distance wofully; there was a keen wind, and the dark pines stretched on
without a break as far as he could see. As he entered each fresh loop of
the stream he looked eagerly for an opening or sign of life, but there
were only rows of ragged spires, cutting sharply against the sky. He felt
inexpressibly lonely and badly afraid; the desolation was growing
appalling, and he could not keep on his feet much longer. He had food
enough for two scanty meals, and then, if no help came, he must starve.

There was now a pain which grew rapidly worse in his left side; his
shoulders ached beneath his load, and every joint was sore with the
effort it cost him to save his injured foot. The sun sank lower, and the
trees still ran on ahead. Indeed, they were growing thicker, and he could
see only a short distance into the avenues between the great colonnades
of trunks. The loops of the river doubled more closely; in spite of his
exertion he was getting very little farther down the valley; but an
attempt to push through the forest led him into such tangles of fallen
trunks and branches that he was forced back to the ice.

At length he reached a spot where a fire had swept the bush. Branches and
clustering needles had been burned away; the trees ran up in bare,
charred columns, black when looked at closely, in the distance a curious
silvery gray. Prescott could see ahead between them, and he stopped with
his heart beating rapidly, for on the white hillside some distance off
stood a few shacks. This was the camp, and in spite of the pain it cost
him he increased his pace, driven by keen suspense. He did not know if
there were men yonder, and he could see no smoke. The doubt grew
tormenting; leaving the stream farther on, he struck into unburned bush
that hid the camp from him. There were thorny brakes and thickets of
withered ferns, but though progress was excruciatingly painful he smashed
through them furiously. He was hot and breathless; it was insufferable
that he should be delayed among the timber in anxiety. Breaking out into
the open, he sent up a hoarse cry, for a thin trail of vapor curled above
one of the shacks. Then a man appeared in the doorway and wa