By faithful watching he might catch sight
of some wandering animal, a target for his rifle and then food
for his stomach. His wilderness wisdom warned him that there was
nothing to do but sit quiet and wait.
He scarcely moved for hours. As long as he was still his ankle
troubled him but little. The sun came out, silver bright, but it
had no warmth. The surface of the lake was shown only by the
smoothness of its expanse; the icy covering was the same
everywhere over hills and valleys. Across the lake he saw the
steep down which he had slid, looming white and lofty. In the
distance it looked perpendicular, and, whatever its terrors, it
had, beyond a doubt, saved his life. He glanced down at his
swollen ankle, and, despite his helpless situation, he was
thankful that he had escaped so well.
About noon he moved enough to throw up the snowbanks higher all
around himself in the fashion of an Eskimos house. Then he let
the fire die except some coals that gave forth no smoke,
stretched the blanket over his head in the manner of a roof, and
once more resumed his quiet and stillness. He was now like a
crippled animal in its lair, but he was warm, and his wound did
not hurt him.
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