his　trail　and　follow　it　to　the　refuge。　　But　as　it　was　no　more　than　two　miles　across　the　lake　at　that　point；　and　the　Iroquois　would　have　to　make　a　great　curve　to　reach　the　other　side；　he　felt　perfectly　safe。　　He　walked　slowly　across；　conscious　all　the　time　of　an　increasing　pain　in　his　left　ankle；　which　must　now　be　badly　swollen；　and　he　did　not　stop　until　he　penetrated　some　distance　among　low　bills。　　Here；　under　an　overhanging　cliff　with　thick　bushes　in　front；　he　found　a　　partial　shelter；　which　he　cleared　out　yet　further。　　Then　with　infinite　patience　he　built　a　fire　with　splinters　that　he　cut　from　dead　boughs；　hung　his　blanket　in　front　of　it　on　two　sticks　that　the　flame　might　not　be　seen；　took　off　his　snowshoes；　leggins；　and　socks；　and　bared　his　ankles。　　Both　were　swollen；　but　the　left　much　more　badly　than　the　other。　　He　doubted　whether　he　would　be　able　to　walk　on　the　following　day；　but　he　rubbed　them　a　long　time；　both　with　the　palms　of　his　hands　and　with　snow；　until　they　felt　better。　　Then　he　replaced　his　clothing；　leaned　back　against　the　faithful　snowshoes　which　had　saved　his　life；　however　much　they　had　hurt　his　ankles；　and　gave　himself　up　to　the　warmth　of　the　fire。
  It　was　very　luxurious；　this　warmth　and　this　rest；　after　so　long　and　terrible　a　flight；　and　he　was　conscious　of　a　great　relaxation；　one　which；　if　he　yielded　to　it　completely；　would　make　his　muscles　so　stiff　and　painful　that　he　could　not　use　them。　　Hence　he　stretched　his　arms　and　legs　many　times；　rubbed　his　ankles　again；　and　then；　remembering　that　he　had　venison；　ate　several　strips。
  He　knew　that　he　had　taken　a　little　risk　with　the　fire；　but　a　fire　he　was　bound　to　have；　and　he　fed　it　again　until　he　had　a　great　mass　of　glowing　coals；　although　there　was　no　blaze。　　Then　he　took　down　the　blanket；　wrapped　himself　in　it；　and　was　soon　asleep　before　the　fire。　　He　slept　long　and　deeply；　and　although；　when　he　awoke；　the　day　had　fully　come；　the　coals　were　not　yet　out　entirely。　　He　arose；　but　such　a　violent　pain　from　his　left　ankle　shot　through　him　that　he　abruptly　sat　down　again。　　As　he　bad　feared；　it　had　swollen　badly　during　the　night；　and　he　could　not　walk。
  In　this　emergency　Henry　displayed　no　petulance；　no　　striving　against　unchangeable　circumstance。　　He　drew　up　more　wood；　which　he　had　stacked　against　the　cliff；　and　put　it　on　the　coals。　　He　hung　up　the　blanket　once　more　in　order　that　it　might　hide　the　fire；　stretched　out　his　lame　leg；　and　calmly　made　a　breakfast　off　the　last　of　his　venison。　　　　　　　　He　knew　be　was　in　a　plight　that　might　appall　the　bravest；　but　be　kept　himself　in　hand。　　It　was　likely　that　the　Iroquois　thought　him　dead；　crushed　into　a　shapeless　mass　by　his　frightful　slide　of　fifteen　hundred　feet；　and　he　had　little　fear　of　them；　but　to　be　unable　to　walk　and　alone　in　an　icy　wilderness　without　food　was　sufficient　in　itself。　　He　calculated　that　it　was　at　least　a　dozen　miles　to　〃The　Alcove；〃　and　the　chances　were　a　hundred　to　one　against　any　of　his　comrades　wandering　his　way。　　He　looked　once　more　at　his　swollen　left　ankle；　and　he　made　a　close　calculation。　　It　would　be　three　days；　more　likely　four；　before　he　could　walk　upon　it。　　Could　he　endure　hunger　that　long？　　He　could。　　He　would！　　Crouched　in　his　nest　with　his　back　to　the　cliff；　he　had　defense　against　any　enemy　in　his　rifle　and　pistol。　　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。　　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。
  He　drew　back　into　his　lair；　and　the　darkness　came　down。　　Despite　his　hunger；　he　slept　fairly　well。　　In　the　night　a　little　snow　fell　at　times；　but　his　blanket　roof　protected　him；　and　he　remained　dry　and　warm。　　The　new　snow　was；　in　a　way；　a　satisfaction；　as　it　completely　hid　his　trail　from　the　glance　of　any　wandering　Indian。　　　　　　　He　awoke　the　next　morning　to　a　gray；　somber　day；　with　piercing　winds　from　the　northwest。　　He　did　not　feel　the　pangs　of　hunger　until　he　had　been　awake　about　a　half　hour；　and　then　they　came　with　redoubled　force。　　Moreover；　he　bad　become　weaker　in　the　night；　and；　added　to　the　loss　of　muscular　strength；　was　a　decrease　in　the　power　of　the　will。　　Hunger　was　eating　away　his　mental　as　well　as　his　physical　fiber。　　He　did　not　face　the　situation　with　quite　the　same　confidence　that　he　felt　the　day　before。　　The　wilderness　looked　a　little　more　threatening。
  His　lips　felt　as　if　he　were　suffering　from　fever；　and　his　shoulders　and　back　were　stiff。　　But　he　drew　his　belt　tighter　again；　and　then　uncovered　his　left　ankle。　　The　swelling　had　gone　down　a　little；　and　he　could　move　it　with　more　freedom　than　on　the　day　before；　but　he　could　not　yet　walk。　　Once　more　he　made　his　grim　calculation。　　In　two　days　he　could　certainly　walk　and　hunt　game　or　make　a　try　for　〃The　Alcove；〃　so　far　as　his　ankle　was　concerned；　but　would　hunger　overpower　him　before　that　time？　　Gaining　strength　in　one　direction；　he　was　losing　it　in　another。
  Now　he　began　to　grow　angry　with　himself。　　The　light　inroad　that　famine　made　upon　his　will　was　telling。　　It　seemed　incredible　that　he；　so　powerful；　so　skillful；　so　self　reliant；　so　long　used　to　the　wilderness　and　to　every　manner　of　hardship；　should　be　held　there　in　a　snowbank　by　a　bruised　ankle　to　die　like　a　crippled　rabbit。　　His　comrades　could　not　be　more　than　ten　miles　away。　　He　could　walk。　　He　would　walk！　　He　stood　upright　and　stepped　out　into　the　snow；　but　pain；　so　agonizing　that　he　could　scarcely　keep　from　crying　out；　shot　through　his　whole　body；　and　he　sank　back　into　the　shelter；　sure　not　to　make　such　an　experiment　again　for　another　full　day。
  The　day　passed　much　like　its　predecessor；　except　that　he　took　down　the　blanket　cover　of　his　snow　hut　and　kindled　up　his　fire　again；　more　for　the　sake　of　cheerfulness　than　for　warmth；　because　he　was　not　suffering　from　cold。　　There　was　a　certain　life　and　light　about　the　coals　and　the　bright　flame；　but　the　relief　did　not　last　long；　and　by　and　by　he　let　it　go　out。　　Then　be　devoted　himself　to　watching　the　heavens　and　the　surface　of　the　snow。　　Some　winter　bird；　duck　or　goose；　might　be　flying　by；　or　a　wandering　deer　might　be　passing。　　He　must　not　lose　any　such　chance。　　He　was　more　than　ever　a　fierce　creature　of　prey；　sitting　at　the　mouth　of　his　den；　the　rifle　across　his　knee；　his　tanned　face　so　thin　that　the　cheek　bones　showed　high　and　sharp；　his　eyes　bright　with　fever　and　the　fierce　desire　for　prey；　and　the　long；　lean　body　drawn　forward　as　if　it　were　about　to　leap。
  He　thought　often　of　dragging　himself　down　to　the　lake；　breaking　a　hole　in　the　ice；　and　trying　to　fish；　but　the　idea　invariably　came　only　to　be　abandoned。　　He　had　neither　hook　nor　bait。　　In　the　afternoon　he　chewed　the　edge　of　his　buckskin　hunting　shirt；　but　it　was　too　thoroughly　tanned　and　dry。　　It　gave　back　no　sustenance。　　He　abandoned　the　experiment　and　lay　still　for　a　long　time。
  That　night　he　had　a　slight　touch　of　frenzy；　and　began　to　laugh　at　himself。　　It　was　a　huge　joke！　　What　would　Timmendiquas　or　Thayendanegea　think　of　him　if　they　knew　how　he　came　to　his　end？　　They