Thus　equipped；　he　ceased　from　wood…chopping；　and　began　to　make　more
  than　a　mere　living。　　Nor　was　he　downhearted　when　the　scurvy　broke
  out　on　his　own　body。　　Ever　he　ran　his　trap…lines　and　sang　his
  ancient　chant。　　Nor　could　the　pessimist　shake　his　surety　of　the
  three　hundred　thousand　of　Alaskan　gold　he　as　going　to　shake　out　of
  the　moss…roots。
  〃But　this　ain't　gold…country；〃　they　told　him。
  〃Gold　is　where　you　find　it；　son；　as　I　should　know　who　was　mining
  before　you　was　born；　'way　back　in　Forty…Nine；〃　was　his　reply。
  〃What　was　Bonanza　Creek　but　a　moose…pasture？　　No　miner'd　look　at
  it；　yet　they　washed　five…hundred…dollar　pans　and　took　out　fifty
  million　dollars。　　Eldorado　was　just　as　bad。　　For　all　you　know；
  right　under　this　here　cabin；　or　right　over　the　next　hill；　is
  millions　just　waiting　for　a　lucky　one　like　me　to　come　and　shake　it
  out。〃
  At　the　end　of　January　came　his　disaster。　　Some　powerful　animal　that
  he　decided　was　a　bob…cat；　managing　to　get　caught　in　one　of　his
  smaller　traps；　dragged　it　away。　　A　heavy　snow…fall　put　a　stop
  midway　to　his　pursuit；　losing　the　trail　for　him　and　losing　himself。
  There　were　but　several　hours　of　daylight　each　day　between　the
  twenty　hours　of　intervening　darkness；　and　his　efforts　in　the　grey
  light　and　continually　falling　snow　succeeded　only　in　losing　him
  more　thoroughly。　　Fortunately；　when　winter　snow　falls　in　the
  Northland　the　thermometer　invariably　rises；　so；　instead　of　the
  customary　forty　and　fifty　and　even　sixty　degrees　below　zero；　the
  temperature　remained　fifteen　below。　　Also；　he　was　warmly　clad　and
  had　a　full　matchbox。　　Further　to　mitigate　his　predicament；　on　the
  fifth　day　he　killed　a　wounded　moose　that　weighed　over　half　a　ton。
  Making　his　camp　beside　it　on　a　spruce…bottom；　he　was　prepared　to
  last　out　the　winter；　unless　a　searching　party　found　him　or　his
  scurvy　grew　worse。
  But　at　the　end　of　two　weeks　there　had　been　no　sign　of　search；　while
  his　scurvy　had　undeniably　grown　worse。　　Against　his　fire；　banked
  from　outer　cold　by　a　shelter…wall　of　spruce…boughs；　he　crouched
  long　hours　in　sleep　and　long　hours　in　waking。　　But　the　waking　hours
  grew　less；　becoming　semi…waking　or　half…dreaming　hours　as　the
  process　of　hibernation　worked　their　way　with　him。　　Slowly　the
  sparkle　point　of　consciousness　and　identity　that　was　John　Tarwater
  sank；　deeper　and　deeper；　into　the　profounds　of　his　being　that　had
  been　compounded　ere　man　was　man；　and　while　he　was　becoming　man；
  when　he；　first　of　all　animals；　regarded　himself　with　an
  introspective　eye　and　laid　the　beginnings　of　morality　in
  foundations　of　nightmare　peopled　by　the　monsters　of　his　own　ethic…
  thwarted　desires。
  Like　a　man　in　fever；　waking　to　intervals　of　consciousness；　so　Old
  Tarwater　awoke；　cooked　his　moose…meat；　and　fed　the　fire；　but　more
  and　more　time　he　spent　in　his　torpor；　unaware　of　what　was　day…dream
  and　what　was　sleep…dream　in　the　content　of　his　unconsciousness。
  And　here；　in　the　unforgetable　crypts　of　man's　unwritten　history；
  unthinkable　and　unrealizable；　like　passages　of　nightmare　or
  impossible　adventures　of　lunacy；　he　encountered　the　monsters
  created　of　man's　first　morality　that　ever　since　have　vexed　him　into
  the　spinning　of　fantasies　to　elude　them　or　do　battle　with　them。
  In　short；　weighted　by　his　seventy　years；　in　the　vast　and　silent
  loneliness　of　the　North；　Old　Tarwater；　as　in　the　delirium　of　drug
  or　anaesthetic；　recovered　within　himself；　the　infantile　mind　of　the
  child…man　of　the　early　world。　　It　was　in　the　dusk　of　Death's
  fluttery　wings　that　Tarwater　thus　crouched；　and；　like　his　remote
  forebear；　the　child…man；　went　to　myth…making；　and　sun…heroizing；
  himself　hero…maker　and　the　hero　in　quest　of　the　immemorable
  treasure　difficult　of　attainment。
  Either　must　he　attain　the　treasure　…　for　so　ran　the　inexorable
  logic　of　the　shadow…land　of　the　unconscious　…　or　else　sink　into　the
  all…devouring　sea；　the　blackness　eater　of　the　light　that　swallowed
  to　extinction　the　sun　each　night　。　。　。　the　sun　that　arose　ever　in
  rebirth　next　morning　in　the　east；　and　that　had　become　to　man　man's
  first　symbol　of　immortality　through　rebirth。　　All　this；　in　the
  deeps　of　his　unconsciousness　（the　shadowy　western　land　of
  descending　light）；　was　the　near　dusk　of　Death　down　into　which　he
  slowly　ebbed。
  But　how　to　escape　this　monster　of　the　dark　that　from　within　him
  slowly　swallowed　him？　　Too　deep…sunk　was　he　to　dream　of　escape　or
  feel　the　prod　of　desire　to　escape。　　For　him　reality　had　ceased。
  Nor　from　within　the　darkened　chamber　of　himself　could　reality
  recrudesce。　　His　years　were　too　heavy　upon　him；　the　debility　of
  disease　and　the　lethargy　and　torpor　of　the　silence　and　the　cold
  were　too　profound。　　Only　from　without　could　reality　impact　upon　him
  and　reawake　within　him　an　awareness　of　reality。　　Otherwise　he　would
  ooze　down　through　the　shadow…realm　of　the　unconscious　into　the　all…
  darkness　of　extinction。
  But　it　came；　the　smash　of　reality　from　without；　crashing　upon　his
  ear　drums　in　a　loud；　explosive　snort。　　For　twenty　days；　in　a
  temperature　that　had　never　risen　above　fifty　below；　no　breath　of
  wind　had　blown　movement；　no　slightest　sound　had　broken　the　silence。
  Like　the　smoker　on　the　opium　couch　refocusing　his　eyes　from　the
  spacious　walls　of　dream　to　the　narrow　confines　of　the　mean　little
  room；　so　Old　Tarwater　stared　vague…eyed　before　him　across　his　dying
  fire；　at　a　huge　moose　that　stared　at　him　in　startlement；　dragging　a
  wounded　leg；　manifesting　all　signs　of　extreme　exhaustion；　it；　too；
  had　been　straying　blindly　in　the　shadow…land；　and　had　wakened　to
  reality　only　just　ere　it　stepped　into　Tarwater's　fire。
  He　feebly　slipped　the　large　fur　mitten　lined　with　thickness　of　wool
  from　his　right　hand。　　Upon　trial　he　found　the　trigger　finger　too
  numb　for　movement。　　Carefully；　slowly；　through　long　minutes；　he
  worked　the　bare　hand　inside　his　blankets；　up　under　his　fur　PARKA；
  through　the　chest　openings　of　his　shirts；　and　into　the　slightly
  warm　hollow　of　his　left　arm…pit。　　Long　minutes　passed　ere　the
  finger　could　move；　when；　with　equal　slowness　of　caution；　he
  gathered　his　rifle　to　his　shoulder　and　drew　bead　upon　the　great
  animal　across　the　fire。
  At　the　shot；　of　the　two　shadow…wanderers；　the　one　reeled　downward
  to　the　dark　and　the　other　reeled　upward　to　the　light；　swaying
  drunkenly　on　his　scurvy…ravaged　legs；　shivering　with　nervousness
  and　cold；　rubbing　swimming　eyes　with　shaking　fingers；　and　staring
  at　the　real　world　all　about　him　that　had　returned　to　him　with　such
  sickening　suddenness。　　He　shook　himself　together；　and　realized　that
  for　long；　how　long　he　did　not　know；　he　had　bedded　in　the　arms　of
  Death。　　He　spat；　with　definite　intention；　heard　the　spittle　crackle
  in　the　frost；　and　judged　it　must　be　below　and　far　below　sixty
  below。　　In　truth；　that　day　at　Fort　Yukon；　the　spirit　thermometer
  registered　seventy…five　degrees　below　zero；　which；　since　freezing…
  point　is　thirty…two　above；　was　equivalent　to　one　hundred　and　seven
  degrees　of　frost。
  Slowly　Tarwater's　brain　reasoned　to　action。　　Here；　in　the　vast
  alone；　dwelt　Death。　　Here　had　come　two　wounded　moose。　　With　the
  clearing　of　the　sky　after　the　great　cold　came　on；　he　had　located
  his　bearings；　and　he　knew　that　both　wounded　moose　had　trailed　to
  him　from　the　east。　　Therefore；　in　the　east；　were　men　…　whites　or
  Indians　he　could　not　tell；　but　at　any　rate　men　who　might　stand　by
  him　in　his　need　and　help　moor　him　to　reality　above　the　sea　of　dark。
  He　moved　slowly；　but　he　moved　in　reality；　girding　himself　with
  rifle；　ammunition；　matches；　and　a　pack　of　twenty　pounds　of　moose…
  meat。　　Then；　an　Argus　rejuvenated；　albeit　lame　of　both　legs　and
  tottery；　he　turned　his　back　on　the　perilous　west　and　limped　into
  the　sun…arising；　re…birthing　east。　。　。　。
  Days　later　…　how　many　days　later　he　was　never　to　know　…　dreaming
  dreams　and　seeing　visions；　cackling　his　old　gold…chant　of　Forty…
  Nine；　like　one　drowning　and　swimming　feebly　to　keep　his
  consciousness　above　the　engulfing　dark；　he　came　out　upon　the　snow…
  slope　to　a　canyon　and　saw　below　smoke　rising　and　men　who　ceased
  from　work　to　gaze　at　him。　　He　tottered　down　the　hill　to　them；　still
  singing；　and　when　he　ceased　from　lack　of　breath　they　called　him
  variously：　　Santa　Claus；　Old　Christmas；　Whiskers；　the　Last　of　the
  Mohicans；　and　Father　Christmas。　　And　when　he　stood　among　them　he
  stood　very　still；　without　speech；　while　great　tears　welled　out　of
  his　eyes。　　He　cried　silently；　a　long　time；　till；　as　if　suddenly
  bethinking　himself；　he　sat　down　in　the　snow　with　much　creaking　and
  crackling　of　his　joints；　and　from　this　low　vantage　point　toppled
  sidewise　and　fainted　calmly　and　easily　away。
  In　less　than　a　week　Old　Tarwater　was　up　and　limping　about　the
  housework　of　the　cabin；　cooking　and　dish…washing　for　the　five　men
  of　the　creek。　　Genuine　sourdoughs　（pioneers）　they　were；　tough　and
  hard…bitten；　who　had　been　buried　so　deeply　inside　the　Circle　that
  they　did　not　know　there　was　a　Klondike　Str