Slowly， as he ploughed and floundered through the snow，he began to see things again， —the banks of the creek，the old timber-jams， the leafless aspens， and the sky. Therunning made him feel better. He did not shiver. Maybe， ifhe ran on， his feet would thaw out； and， anyway， if he ranfar enough， he would reach camp and the boys. Withoutdoubt he would lose some fingers and toes and some ofhis face； but the boys would take care of him， and save therest of him when he got there. And at the same time therewas another thought in his mind that said he would neverget to the camp and the boys； that it was too many milesaway， that the freezing had too great a start on him， andthat he would soon be stiff and dead. This thought he keptin the background and refused to consider. Sometimes itpushed itself forward and demanded to be heard， but hethrust it back and strove to think of other things.
It struck him as curious that he could run at all on feetso frozen that he could not feel them when they struckthe earth and took the weight of his body. He seemed tohimself to skim along above the surface， and to have noconnection with the earth. Somewhere he had once seena winged Mercury， and he wondered if Mercury felt as hefelt when skimming over the earth.
His theory of running until he reached camp and theboys had one flaw in it： he lacked the endurance. Severaltimes he stumbled， and finally he tottered， crumpled up，and fell. When he tried to rise， he failed. He must sit andrest， he decided， and next time he would merely walk andkeep on going. As he sat and regained his breath， he notedthat he was feeling quite warm and comfortable. He wasnot shivering， and it even seemed that a warm glow hadcome to his chest and trunk. And yet， when he touchedhis nose or cheeks， there was no sensation. Running wouldnot thaw them out. Nor would it thaw out his handsand feet. Then the thought came to him that the frozenportions of his body must be extending. He tried to keepthis thought down， to forget it， to think of something else；he was aware of the panicky feeling that it caused， and hewas afraid of the panic. But the thought asserted itself，and persisted， until it produced a vision of his body totallyfrozen. This was too much， and he made another wild runalong the trail. Once he slowed down to a walk， but thethought of the freezing extending itself made him runagain.
And all the time the dog ran with him， at his heels.
When he fell down a second time， it curled its tail overits forefeet and sat in front of him， facing him， curiouslyeager and intent. The warmth and security of the animalangered him， and he cursed it till it flattened down its earsappeasingly. This time the shivering came more quicklyupon the man. He was losing in his battle with the frost.
It was creeping into his body from all sides. The thoughtof it drove him on， but he ran no more than a hundredfeet， when he staggered and pitched headlong. It was hislast panic. When he had recovered his breath and control，he sat up and entertained in his mind the conception ofmeeting death with dignity. However， the conception didnot come to him in such terms. His idea of it was that hehad been making a fool of himself， running around like achicken with its head cut off—such was the simile thatoccurred to him. Well， he was bound to freeze anyway，and he might as well take it decently. With this new-foundpeace of mind came the first glimmerings of drowsiness.
A good idea， he thought， to sleep off to death. It was liketaking an anaesthetic. Freezing was not so bad as peoplethought. There were lots worse ways to die.
He pictured the boys finding his body next day. Suddenlyhe found himself with them， coming along the trail andlooking for himself. And， still with them， he came arounda turn in the trail and found himself lying in the snow. Hedid not belong with himself any more， for even then hewas out of himself， standing with the boys and looking athimself in the snow. It certainly was cold， was his thought.
When he got back to the States he could tell the folkswhat real cold was. He drifted on from this to a vision ofthe old-timer on Sulphur Creek. He could see him quiteclearly， warm and comfortable， and smoking a pipe.
“You were right， old hoss； you were right，” the manmumbled to the old-timer of Sulphur Creek.
Then the man drowsed off into what seemed to him themost comfortable and satisfying sleep he had ever known.
The dog sat facing him and waiting. The brief day drewto a close in a long， slow twilight. There were no signs of afire to be made， and， besides， never in the dog’s experiencehad it known a man to sit like that in the snow and makeno fire. As the twilight drew on， its eager yearning for thefire mastered it， and with a great lifting and shifting offorefeet， it whined softly， then flattened its ears down inanticipation of being chidden by the man. But the manremained silent. Later， the dog whined loudly. And stilllater it crept close to the man and caught the scent ofdeath. This made the animal bristle and back away. A littlelonger it delayed， howling under the stars that leaped anddanced and shone brightly in the cold sky. Then it turnedand trotted up the trail in the direction of the camp itknew， where were the other food-providers and fireproviders.