The snow, which had come on again, was whispering in the trees when I entered among them, groping in the thick darkness for his recumbent form. It sifted straight down through the still air, while the wind shrieked and roared overhead. He called feebly when I came close to him in my blind search.
“Well, how goes it?” I inquired, with seeming cheerfulness.
“I think I’m better.” This through chattering teeth. “But I’m aw-aw-awfully cold.”
“Get up. I’ll help you.”
“I-I-I don’t want to.”
“But you can’t stay here,” I protested. “You’d be frozen stiff before morning. We’ve got to get back to that barn we passed.”
“A-a-aren’t you going to lie down, too? We might keep each other warm.”
“No, I’m not,” very emphatically. “Get up, d’you hear, get up!”
Partly by sheer force I got him out of the thing we had bought for a sleeping-bag. Already the wet had penetrated in places. While Wallace stood leaning against a tree, I groped round for our knapsacks.