As the day wore on, he came into a valley where game was more plentiful. A herd of twenty caribou passed by within rifle range. He felt like running after them, but he knew such an effort would be senseless. Once he saw a fox with a bird in its mouth. He called loudly, hoping to frighten the fox into dropping the bird; but the fox, leaping away in fright, did not drop the bird.
He was weary and often wished to rest—to lie down and sleep, but he was driven on by his hunger. He searched little ponds for frogs and dug up the earth with his finger nails for worms, though he knew that neither frogs nor worms lived that far north.
In one area he walked along a creek, looking for fish. In a pool he found a small one. He dipped his arm into the water up to his shoulder, but the fish got away. Then he reached for it with both hands, stirring up the mud at the bottom. In his excitement he fell in, wetting himself to the waist. Since he could no longer see the fish, he had to wait until the water cleared.
When he tried again, the water became muddy. Then he took his tin pail and began to bail the pool. He bailed wildly at first, and some of the water ran back into the pool. Then he worked more carefully, though his heart was pounding in his chest and his hands were shaking. At the end of half an hour the pool was nearly dry. But there was no fish. It had escaped between the rocks into a larger pool.
Defeated in his effort, the man sat down upon the wet earth. At first he cried softly to himself. Then he cried loudly in his hopeless condition.
He built a fire and warmed himself and drank some hot water. His blankets were wet and cold, and his ankle was still painful, but his worst suffering came from his hunger. He tried to sleep, but he dreamed of food and many good things to eat.
He awoke cold and sick. There was no sun. The air about him grew white while he made a fire and boiled some water. It was wet snow, half rain, and the flakes melted quickly and put out his fire.