that his enforced halts for rest were growing more and more frequent. A deadly exhaustion was beginning to clutch at him. If only he could get a mouthful of food he could keep it at bay. At every halt he opened his eyes wide and peered eagerly about him, in the hope of glimpsing some winter prowler whom he could shoot. But the wilderness was lifeless. Not even a rabbit-track could he see anywhere upon the stainless levels of the snow. And if there were no rabbits abroad, there was small likelihood of any others of the wild kindred, all hunters of rabbits, crossing his desperate path.
For another hour McLaggan laboured on, his progress growing ever slower and slower. Then he began to lose count and care of time. He would allow himself to think only of keeping his direction and conserving his vital force. Through his half-closed lids he began to see curious coloured lights, and the scattered fir trees under their loads of snow would from time to time seem to stagger grotesquely, then recover themselves and stand erect again with the rigid air of a drunken man who protests he is not drunk. McLaggan found himself laughing foolishly at the action of the trees, and assuring himself that if they had really staggered they must have shed their snow. Then his watchful will prodded his brain sharply to attention; and, thoroughly startled to observe how
