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consciousness； was the knowledge that each instant his feet were freezing。
This thought tended to put him in a panic； but he fought against it and kept
calm。 He pulled on his mittens with his teeth； and threshed his arms back
and forth； beating his hands with all his might against his sides。 He did
this sitting down； and he stood up to do it； and all the while the dog sat in
the snow； its wolf…brush of a tail curled around warmly over its forefeet；
its sharp wolf…ears pricked forward intently as it watched the man。 And
the man as he beat and threshed with his arms and hands； felt a great surge
of envy as he regarded the creature that was warm and secure in its natural
covering。
After a time he was aware of the first far…away signals of sensation in
his beaten fingers。 The faint tingling grew stronger till it evolved into a
stinging ache that was excruciating； but which the man hailed with
satisfaction。 He stripped the mitten from his right hand and fetched forth
the birch…bark。 The exposed fingers were quickly going numb again。
Next he brought out his bunch of sulphur matches。 But the tremendous
cold had already driven the life out of his fingers。 In his effort to
separate one match from the others； the whole bunch fell in the snow。 He
tried to pick it out of the snow； but failed。 The dead fingers could neither
touch nor clutch。 He was very careful。 He drove the thought of his
freezing feet； and nose； and cheeks； out of his mind； devoting his whole
soul to the matches。 He watched； using the sense of vision in place of that
of touch； and when he saw his fingers on each side the bunch； he closed
themthat is； he willed to close them； for the wires were drawn； and the
fingers did not obey。 He pulled the mitten on the right hand； and beat it
fiercely against his knee。 Then； with both mittened hands； he scooped
the bunch of matches； along with much snow； into his lap。 Yet he was no
better off。
After some manipulation he managed to get the bunch between the
heels of his mittened hands。 In this fashion he carried it to his mouth。
The ice crackled and snapped when by a violent effort he opened his
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mouth。 He drew the lower jaw in； curled the upper lip out of the way；
and scraped the bunch with his upper teeth in order to separate a match。
He succeeded in getting one； which he dropped on his lap。 He was no
better off。 He could not pick it up。 Then he devised a way。 He picked
it up in his teeth and scratched it on his leg。 Twenty times he scratched
before he succeeded in lighting it。 As it flamed he held it with his teeth
to the birch…bark。 But the burning brimstone went up his nostrils and into
his lungs； causing him to cough spasmodically。 The match fell into the
snow and went out。
The old…timer on Sulphur Creek was right； he thought in the moment
of controlled despair that ensued： after fifty below； a man should travel
with a partner。 He beat his hands； but failed in exciting any sensation。
Suddenly he bared both hands； removing the mittens with his teeth。 He
caught the whole bunch between the heels of his hands。 His arm…muscles
not being frozen enabled him to press the hand…heels tightly against the
matches。 Then he scratched the bunch along his leg。 It flared into
flame； seventy sulphur matches at once！ There was no wind to blow
them out。 He kept his head to one side to escape the strangling fumes；
and held the blazing bunch to the birch…bark。 As he so held it； he became
aware of sensation in his hand。 His flesh was burning。 He could smell
it。 Deep down below the surface he could feel it。 The sensation
developed into pain that grew acute。 And still he endured it； holding the
flame of the matches clumsily to the bark that would not light readily
because his own burning hands were in the way； absorbing most of the
flame。
At last； when he could endure no more； he jerked his hands apart。 The
blazing matches fell sizzling into the snow； but the birch…bark was alight。
He began laying dry grasses and the tiniest twigs on the flame。 He could
not pick and choose； for he had to lift the fuel between the heels of his
hands。 Small pieces of rotten wood and green moss clung to the twigs；
and he bit them off as well as he could with his teeth。 He cherished the
flame carefully and awkwardly。 It meant life； and it must not perish。
The withdrawal of blood from the surface of his body now made him
begin to shiver； and he grew more awkward。 A large piece of green moss
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fell squarely on the little fire。 He tried to poke it out with his fingers； but
his shivering frame made him poke too far； and he disrupted the nucleus of
the little fire； the burning grasses and tiny twigs separating and scattering。
He tried to poke them together again； but in spite of the tenseness of the
effort； his shivering got away with him； and the twigs were hopelessly
scattered。 Each twig gushed a puff of smoke and went out。 The fire…
provider had failed。 As he looked apathetically about him； his eyes
chanced on the dog； sitting across the ruins of the fire from him； in the
snow； making restless； hunching movements； slightly lifting one forefoot
and then the other； shifting its weight back and forth on them with wistful
eagerness。
The sight of the dog put a wild idea into his head。 He remembered
the tale of the man； caught in a blizzard； who killed a steer and crawled
inside the carcass； and so was saved。 He would kill the dog and bury his
hands in the warm body until the numbness went out of 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； who had never
known the man to speak in such way before。 Something was the matter；
and its suspicious nature sensed danger；