he put in the teapot that he
bade fair to extend the lifetime of the tea indefinitely. His entire
food supply consisted of half-a-sack of flour and a part-full can of
baking powder. He made biscuits, and ate them slowly, chewing each
mouthful with infinite relish. When he had had three he called a halt.
He debated a while, reached for another biscuit, then hesitated. He
turned to the part sack of flour, lifted it, and judged its weight.

"I'm good for a couple of weeks," he spoke aloud.

"Maybe three," he added, as he put the biscuits away.

Again he drew on his mittens, pulled down his ear-flaps, took the rifle,
and went out to his station on the river bank. He crouched in the snow,
himself unseen, and watched. After a few minutes of inaction, the frost
began to bite in, and he rested the rifle across his knees and beat his
hands back and forth. Then the sting in his feet became intolerable, and
he stepped back from the bank and tramped heavily up and down among the
trees. But he did not tramp long at a time. Every several minutes he
came to the edge of the bank and peered up and down the trail, as though
by sheer will he could materialise the form of a man upon it. The short
morning passed, though it had seemed century-long to him, and the trail
remained empty.

It was easier in the afternoon, watching by the bank. The temperature
rose, and soon the snow began to fall--dry and fine and crystalline.
There was no wind, and it fell straight down, in quiet monotony. He
crouched with eyes closed, his head upon his knees, keeping his watch
upon the trail with his ears. But no whining of dogs, churning of sleds,
nor cries of drivers broke the silence. With twilight he returned to the
tent, cut a supply of firewood, ate two biscuits, and crawled into his
blankets. He slept restlessly, tossing about and groaning; and at
midnight he got up and ate another biscuit.

Each day grew colder. Four biscuits could not keep up the heat of his
body, despite the quantities of hot spruce tea he drank, and he
increased his allowance, morning and evening, to three biscuits. In the
middle of the day he ate nothing, contenting himself with several cups
of excessively weak real tea. This programme became routine. In the
morning three biscuits, at noon real tea, and at night three biscuits.
In between he drank spruce tea for his scurvy. He caught himself making
larger biscuits, and after a severe struggle with himself went back to
the old