more potent barrier than turf or stone against the savagery of the outer cold.
In the faintly glimmering darkness of the cave there was a musky, vital odour, with vague wafts of warmish air as if some great animal were breathing very slowly in its sleep. Now and again there would be a little drowsy whimper, as of deep content, or an almost imperceptible sound of furry snuggling and suckling unutterably comfortable; and in response there would come a faint stir, with two or three loud breaths from mighty lungs half minded to wake up. The air of the cave would be warmer for a moment, and the vital smell more pungent. Then all would sink again into sleep and silence—but a sleep and silence how unlike that stillness of death that reigned in the Great Frost outside the cave!
If Bob McLaggan had not had a will of tempered steel, if his heart had not been as stout as his muscles were enduring, he would, hours back, have given up the hopeless struggle and sunk down into the snow to his final sleep. And in the following summer, perhaps, some migrant Indian or trapper would have come upon his bones, picked clean by minks and foxes. Not born to the backwoods, and presuming too far upon his
