An hallucination began to trouble him. He felt confidentthat one cartridge remained to him. It was in the chamberof the rifle and he had overlooked it. On the other hand，he knew all the time that the chamber was empty. But thehallucination persisted. He fought it off for hours， thenthrew his rifle open and was confronted with emptiness.
The disappointment was as bitter as though he had reallyexpected to find the cartridge.
He plodded on for half an hour， when the hallucinationarose again. Again he fought it， and still it persisted， tillfor very relief he opened his rifle to unconvince himself.
At times his mind wandered farther afield， and he ploddedon， a mere automaton， strange conceits and whimsicalitiesgnawing at his brain like worms. But these excursions outof the real were of brief duration， for ever the pangs of thehunger-bite called him back. He was jerked back abruptlyonce from such an excursion by a sight that caused himnearly to faint. He reeled and swayed， doddering like adrunken man to keep from falling. Before him stood ahorse. A horse！ He could not believe his eyes. A thick mistwas in them， intershot with sparkling points of light. Herubbed his eyes savagely to clear his vision， and beheld，not a horse， but a great brown bear. The animal wasstudying him with bellicose curiosity.
The man had brought his gun halfway to his shoulderbefore he realized. He lowered it and drew his huntingknifefrom its beaded sheath at his hip. Before him wasmeat and life.
He ran his thumb along the edge of his knife. It wassharp. The point was sharp. He would fling himself uponthe bear and kill it. But his heart began its warning thump，thump， thump. Then followed the wild upward leap andtattoo of flutters， the pressing as of an iron band about hisforehead， the creeping of the dizziness into his brain.
His desperate courage was evicted by a great surge offear. In his weakness， what if the animal attacked him？ Hedrew himself up to his most imposing stature， grippingthe knife and staring hard at the bear. The bear advancedclumsily a couple of steps， reared up， and gave vent to atentative growl. If the man ran， he would run after him；but the man did not run. He was animated now with thecourage of fear. He， too， growled， savagely， terribly， voicingthe fear that is to life germane and that lies twisted aboutlife’s deepest roots.
The bear edged away to one side， growling menacingly，himself appalled by this mysterious creature that appearedupright and unafraid. But the man did not move. He stoodlike a statue till the danger was past， when he yielded to afit of trembling and sank down into the wet moss.
He pulled himself together and went on， afraid now ina new way. It was not the fear that he should die passivelyfrom lack of food， but that he should be destroyedviolently before starvation had exhausted the last particleof the endeavor in him that made toward surviving. Therewere the wolves. Back and forth across the desolationdrifted their howls， weaving the very air into a fabric ofmenace that was so tangible that he found himself， arms inthe air， pressing it back from him as it might be the wallsof a wind-blown tent.
Now and again the wolves， in packs of two and three，crossed his path. But they sheered clear of him. They werenot in sufficient numbers， and besides they were huntingthe caribou， which did not battle， while this strangecreature that walked erect might scratch and bite.
In the late afternoon he came upon scattered boneswhere the wolves had made a kill. The d bris had been acaribou calf an hour before， squawking and running andvery much alive. He contemplated the bones， clean-pickedand polished， pink with the cell-life in them which hadnot yet died. Could it possibly be that he might be thatere the day was done！ Such was life， eh？ A vain and fleetingthing. It was only life that pained. There was no hurt indeath. To die was to sleep. It meant cessation， rest. Thenwhy was he not content to die？
But he did not moralize long. He was squatting in themoss， a bone in his mouth， sucking at the shreds of lifethat still dyed it faintly pink. The sweet meaty taste， thinand elusive almost as a memory， maddened him. He closedhis jaws on the bones and crunched. Sometimes it was thebone that broke， sometimes his teeth. Then he crushedthe bones between rocks， pounded them to a pulp， andswallowed them. He pounded his fingers， too， in his haste，and yet found a moment in which to feel surprise at thefact that his fingers did not hurt much when caught underthe descending rock.
Came frightful days of snow and rain. He did not knowwhen he made camp， when he broke camp. He travelledin the night as much as in the day. He rested wherever hefell， crawled on whenever the dying life in him flickeredup and burned less dimly. He， as a man， no longer strove.
It was the life in him， unwilling to die， that drove him on.
He did not suffer. His nerves had become blunted， numb，while his mind was filled with weird visions and deliciousdreams.
But ever he sucked and chewed on the crushed bonesof the caribou calf， the least remnants of which he hadgathered up and carried with him. He crossed no morehills or divides， but automatically followed a large streamwhich flowed through a wide and shallow valley. He didnot see this stream nor this valley. He saw nothing savevisions. Soul and body walked or crawled side by side， yetapart， so slender was the thread that bound them.
He awoke in his right mind， lying on his back on a rockyledge. The sun was shining bright and warm. A far off heheard the squawking of caribou calves. He was aware ofvague memories of rain and wind and snow， but whetherhe had been beaten by the storm for two days or twoweeks he did not know.
