e as he could summon. Now he missed greatly
his four comrades, and their talk. With them the time would have passed
easily, but since they were not there he must do the best he could
without them. The problem of food which he had resolutely pushed away,
forced itself back again. A big, powerful body such as his was like an
active engine. It required much fuel. There would be no food but animal
food, and he was in no mood for killing an animal now. But he could not
hide from himself the fact that it must be done, sooner or later.

On the second day he went through the pass by which the deer had gone,
beating down the snow under his feet, until it was hard enough to
sustain him, and, after about two miles of such difficult traveling,
came upon fairly level ground. Here, hunting about, he surprised several
rabbits in their deep nests, and killed them with blows of his rifle
muzzle.

The hunt took nearly all day, and, when he returned to the cove with his
game, night was coming. He was surprised to find how welcome the place
was to him and how much it looked like a home. There was his sheltered
alcove, with the wall of dead wood in front of it, and there were two
heaps of coals sending their friendly glow to him through the cold dusk.

It _was_ a home, and it was more. It was a refuge and a fortress. He had
been guided to it by the greater powers, and he should value it for all
it had afforded him, warmth, shelter and protection from his foes. He
was not one to be lacking in gratitude or appreciation, and he sent
admiring glances about his well, for it was more like a well than a
valley. Lonely it might be, but bodily comforts it offered in abundance
to such as Henry.

He cleaned the rabbits and hung them up in the alcove, knowing that
their bodies would freeze hard in the night, and thus would be
preserved, giving him with the wild turkey a supply of food sufficient
for two or three days.

He was awakened the second night by cries, faint but very fierce, and he
knew they were made by wolves howling. The ferocity, however, was not
for him, as during that singular period his feeling of kinship for the
animals extended even to the wolf. He knew that they howled because of
hunger. The deep snow was hard on the wolves, making it difficult to
find or pursue their prey, and they sent forth the angry lament because
they were famished.

Henry merely drew the painted robe more closely about his body, looked
contentedly at the