From time to time he waked, always finding the snow falling, falling, still. By daylight, several inches had fallen, covering the pine stumps, and making it harder than ever to know the way home. And still it came down, a mist of tiny white feathers which showed no sign of ceasing.
Dick dared not leave the shelter of the rock for the open. So he gathered more wood for his fire, ate the remains of the food on which he had supped the evening before, and resigned himself to wait.
It was with a gloomy face that he surveyed the ever-drifting snow, for he knew what it would mean to be "snowed up."
He pulled at his pipe, and watched the fire, and kept it bright. And so the day dragged on, and night fell again. He made up his mind that he must not let sleep overtake him to-night. He must, and would, keep awake, or he might be frozen to death.
He piled the long branches on his fire,
