ld
not cope. A detachment of the North-West police went by, a score of
them, with many sleds and dogs; and he cowered down on the bank above,
and they were unaware of the menace of death that lurked in the form of
a dying man beside the trail.

His frozen thumb gave him a great deal of trouble. While watching by the
bank he got into the habit of taking his mitten off and thrusting the
hand inside his shirt so as to rest the thumb in the warmth of his
arm-pit. A mail carrier came over the trail, and Morganson let him pass.
A mail carrier was an important person, and was sure to be missed
immediately.

On the first day after his last flour had gone it snowed. It was always
warm when the snow fell, and he sat out the whole eight hours of
daylight on the bank, without movement, terribly hungry and terribly
patient, for all the world like a monstrous spider waiting for its prey.
But the prey did not come, and he hobbled back to the tent through the
darkness, drank quarts of spruce tea and hot water, and went to bed.

The next morning circumstance eased its grip on him. As he started to
come out of the tent he saw a huge bull-moose crossing the swale some
four hundred yards away. Morganson felt a surge and bound of the blood
in him, and then went unaccountably weak. A nausea overpowered him, and
he was compelled to sit down a moment to recover. Then he reached for
his rifle and took careful aim. The first shot was a hit: he knew it;
but the moose turned and broke for the wooded hillside that came down to
the swale. Morganson pumped bullets wildly among the trees and brush at
the fleeing animal, until it dawned upon him that he was exhausting the
ammunition he needed for the sled-load of life for which he waited.

He stopped shooting, and watched. He noted the direction of the animal's
flight, and, high up on the hillside in an opening among the trees, saw
the trunk of a fallen pine. Continuing the moose's flight in his mind he
saw that it must pass the trunk. He resolved on one more shot, and in
the empty air above the trunk he aimed and steadied his wavering rifle.
The animal sprang into his field of vision, with lifted fore-legs as it
took the leap. He pulled the trigger. With the explosion the moose
seemed to somersault in the air. It crashed down to earth in the snow
beyond and flurried the snow into dust.

Morganson dashed up the hillside--at least he started to dash up. The
next he knew he was coming out of a faint