But hunger began to trouble him. He was young and
so powerful that his frame demanded much sustenance. Now it
cried aloud its need! He ate two or three handfuls of snow, and
for a few moments it seemed to help him a little, but his hunger
soon came back as strong as ever. Then he tightened his belt and
sat in grim silence, trying to forget that there was any such
thing as food.
The effort of the will was almost a success throughout the
afternoon, but before night it failed. He began to have roseate
visions of Long Jim trying venison, wild duck, bear, and buffalo
steaks over the coals. He could sniff the aroma, so powerful had
his imagination become, and, in fancy, his month watered, while
its roof was really dry. They were daylight visions, and he knew
it well, but they taunted him and made his pain fiercer. He slid
forward a little to the mouth of his shelter, and thrust out his
rifle in the hope that be would see some wild creature, no matter
what; he felt that be could shoot it at any distance, and then he
would feast!
He saw nothing living, either on earth or in the air, only
motionless white, and beyond, showing but faintly now through the
coming twilight, the lofty cliff that had saved him.
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