The old man on Sulphur Creek was right, he thought in the
moment of controlled despair that followed. After 50 below zero, a man
should travel with a companion. He beat his hands, but failed to produce any feeling in them. Suddenly he bared both hands, removing the
mittens with his teeth. He caught the whole pack of matches between
his hands. His arm muscles were not frozen and he was able to press the
hands tightly against the matches. Then he drew the whole pack along
his leg. It burst into flame, 70 matches at once!
There was no wind to blow them out. He kept his head to one side
to escape the burning smell, and held the flaming pack to the tree bark.
As he so held it, he noticed some feeling in his hand. His flesh was
burning. He could smell it. The feeling developed into pain. He continued to endure it. He held the flame of the matches to the bark that
would not light readily because his own burning hands were taking
most of the flame.
Finally, when he could endure no more, he pulled his hands apart.
The flaming matches fell into the snow, but the tree bark was burning.
He began laying dry grasses and the tiniest sticks on the flame. He
could not choose carefully because they must be pieces that could be
lifted between his hands. Small pieces of green grass stayed on the sticks,
and he bit them off as well as he could with his teeth. He treated the
flame carefully. It meant life, and it must not cease.
The blood had left the surface of his body and he now began to
shake from the cold. A large piece of a wet plant fell on the little fire.
He tried to push it out with his fingers. His shaking body made him push
it too far and he scattered the little fire over a wide space. He tried to
push the burning grasses and sticks together again. Even with the strong
effort that he made, his trembling fingers would not obey and the sticks
were hopelessly scattered. Each stick smoked a little and died. The fire provider had failed. As he looked about him, his eyes noticed the dog
sitting across the ruins of the fire from him. It was making uneasy move-
ments, slightly lifting one foot and then the other.
The sight of the dog put a wild idea into his head. He remembered
the story of the man, caught in a storm, who killed an animal and sheltered himself inside the dead body and thus was saved. He would kill
the dog and bury his hands in the warm body until feeling returned to
them. Then he could build another fire.
He spoke to the dog, calling it to him. But in his voice was a
strange note of fear that frightened the animal. It had never known the
man to speak in such a tone before. Something was wrong and it sensed
danger. It knew not what danger, but somewhere in its brain arose a
fear of the man. It flattened its ears at the sound of the man’s voice; its
uneasy movements and the liftings of its feet became more noticeable.
But it would not come to the man. He got down on his hands and knees
and went toward the dog. But this unusual position again excited fear
and the animal moved away.