He had no fire that night， nor hot water， and crawled underhis blanket to sleep the broken hunger-sleep. The snow turnedinto a cold rain. He awakened many times to feel it fallingon his upturned face. Day came—a gray day and no sun. Ithad ceased raining. The keenness of his hunger had departed.
Sensibility， as far as concerned the yearning for food， had beenexhausted. There was a dull， heavy ache in his stomach， but itdid not bother him so much. He was more rational， and oncemore he was chiefly interested in the land of little sticks andthe cache by the river Dease.
He ripped the remnant of one of his blankets into strips andbound his bleeding feet. Also， he recinched the injured ankleand prepared himself for a day of travel. When he came to hispack， he paused long over the squat moose-hide sack， but inthe end it went with him.
The snow had melted under the rain， and only the hilltopsshowed white. The sun came out， and he succeeded in locatingthe points of the compass， though he knew now that hewas lost. Perhaps， in his previous days’ wanderings， he hadedged away too far to the left. He now bore off to the right tocounteract the possible deviation from his true course.
Though the hunger pangs were no longer so exquisite， herealized that he was weak. He was compelled to pause forfrequent rests， when he attacked the muskeg berries and rushgrasspatches. His tongue felt dry and large， as though coveredwith a fine hairy growth， and it tasted bitter in his mouth. Hisheart gave him a great deal of trouble. When he had travelleda few minutes it would begin a remorseless thump， thump，thump， and then leap up and away in a painful flutter of beatsthat choked him and made him go faint and dizzy.
In the middle of the day he found two minnows in a largepool. It was impossible to bale it， but he was calmer now andmanaged to catch them in his tin bucket. They were no longerthan his little finger， but he was not particularly hungry. Thedull ache in his stomach had been growing duller and fainter.
It seemed almost that his stomach was dozing. He ate the fishraw， masticating with painstaking care， for the eating was anact of pure reason. While he had no desire to eat， he knew thathe must eat to live.
In the evening he caught three more minnows， eating twoand saving the third for breakfast. The sun had dried strayshreds of moss， and he was able to warm himself with hotwater. He had not covered more than ten miles that day； andthe next day， travelling whenever his heart permitted him， hecovered no more than five miles. But his stomach did not givehim the slightest uneasiness. It had gone to sleep. He was ina strange country， too， and the caribou were growing moreplentiful， also the wolves. Often their yelps drifted acrossthe desolation， and once he saw three of them slinking awaybefore his path.
Another night； and in the morning， being more rational， heuntied the leather string that fastened the squat moose-hidesack. From its open mouth poured a yellow stream of coarsegold-dust and nuggets. He roughly divided the gold in halves，caching one half on a prominent ledge， wrapped in a piece ofblanket， and returning the other half to the sack. He also beganto use strips of the one remaining blanket for his feet. He stillclung to his gun， for there were cartridges in that cache by theriver Dease.
This was a day of fog， and this day hunger awoke in himagain. He was very weak and was afflicted with a giddinesswhich at times blinded him. It was no uncommon thingnow for him to stumble and fall； and stumbling once， he fellsquarely into a ptarmigan nest. There were four newly hatchedchicks， a day old—little specks of pulsating life no more thana mouthful； and he ate them ravenously， thrusting them aliveinto his mouth and crunching them like egg-shells between histeeth. The mother ptarmigan beat about him with great outcry.
He used his gun as a club with which to knock her over， butshe dodged out of reach. He threw stones at her and with onechance shot broke a wing. Then she fluttered away， running，trailing the broken wing， with him in pursuit.
The little chicks had no more than whetted his appetite.
He hopped and bobbed clumsily along on his injured ankle，throwing stones and screaming hoarsely at times； at othertimes hopping and bobbing silently along， picking himself upgrimly and patiently when he fell， or rubbing his eyes with hishand when the giddiness threatened to overpower him.
The chase led him across swampy ground in the bottom ofthe valley， and he came upon footprints in the soggy moss.
They were not his own—he could see that. They must be Bill’s.
But he could not stop， for the mother ptarmigan was running on.
He would catch her first， then he would return and investigate.
He exhausted the mother ptarmigan； but he exhaustedhimself. She lay panting on her side. He lay panting on hisside， a dozen feet away， unable to crawl to her. And as herecovered she recovered， fluttering out of reach as his hungryhand went out to her. The chase was resumed. Night settleddown and she escaped. He stumbled from weakness andpitched head foremost on his face， cutting his cheek， his packupon his back. He did not move for a long while； then herolled over on his side， wound his watch， and lay there untilmorning.
Another day of fog. Half of his last blanket had gone intofoot-wrappings. He failed to pick up Bill’s trail. It did notmatter. His hunger was driving him too compellingly—only—only he wondered if Bill， too， were lost. By midday the irkof his pack became too oppressive. Again he divided thegold， this time merely spilling half of it on the ground. In theafternoon he threw the rest of it away， there remaining to himonly the half-blanket， the tin bucket， and the rifle.