His
indiscretion in overfilling the stove had caused the fire, and in
that other moment--when he might have snatched up more than the
bearskin--his mind had failed to act.
In the short space he stood there helplessly in the red heat of
the fire the desperateness of the situation seared itself like the
hot flame itself in his brain. As prisoners in Bram's cabin,
guarded by the wolves and attacked by the Eskimos, they still had
shelter, food, clothing--a chance to live, at least the chance to
fight. And now--
He put a hand to his bare head and faced the direction of the
storm. With the dying away of the wind snow had begun to fall, and
with this snow he knew there would come a rising temperature. It
was probably twenty degrees below zero, and unless the wind went
down completely his ears would freeze in an hour or two. Then he
thought of the thick German socks he wore. One of them would do
for a cap. His mind worked swiftly after that. There was, after
all, a tremendous thrill in the thought of fighting the odds
against him, and in the thought of the girl waiting for him in the
bearskin, her life depending upon him utterly now.
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