Feeling sure that he was nearing the end of his journey, he hurried on gaily till he arrived at the edge of the water he had seen from afar off. But it was not the river. It was a little, long lake, with a creek flowing out lazily from near the point where he had struck it.

Now he bitterly repented his folly in leaving the river, his only guide. He had no idea which way it had curved since he left it. It might be close ahead; it might be a dozen miles away to the left. But the only chance of safety was to try to find it again, and he steered off diagonally into the woods to the southwest. The woods became difficult to get through. He struggled for more than two miles through dense tamarac swamps, and at last did come upon a medium-sized river.

Was it the Fish River? He could not tell. He thought it must be; yet it seemed too small, and moreover did not appear to be flowing in the right direction. The sun was sinking low, and all at once it, too, seemed to be in the wrong quarter of the sky. The woods turned dizzily around him; all directions seemed to be reversed.

CHAPTER VI
DEFEAT

He had just sense enough to control his panic. Tom had never before been thoroughly “turned around,” but he remembered the hunter’s maxim for those in such a predicament: sit down, shut your eyes for half an hour, and let things right themselves.

He sat down and shut his eyes, but things did not right themselves. The sun dipped below the trees. He was afraid to start in any direction, and he thought he might as well spend the night where he was. Indeed, he felt too weak and empty to go farther without eating.

He gnawed the bones of his rabbit without satisfying his appetite. The idea of eating raw meat did not seem so repulsive to him now, and he stole hungrily into the darkening woods. A pair of feeding grouse whirred up and alighted together in a tree. It was an easy shot, but his hands trembled. He missed, and almost wept with disappointment. Ten minutes later, however, he had better luck, and he bagged a hare, tearing the body badly with the bullet.

He skinned and dressed it hastily, and chewed strips of the raw flesh. It tasted almost delicious, but half an hour afterward he grew deathly sick and vomited. The fit passed, leaving him weak and worn out, and too miserable to care whether he was lost or not.

He had not energy enough to look for a better place for the night, nor to pull twigs for a bed. He lay down and drew himself together as well as he could under his heavy jacket, slept a little, awoke shivering a dozen times, and at last wearily saw the dawn breaking. There was white frost on the earth.

The night, however, had restored his normal sense of direction. It seemed right that the sun should rise where it did, and the light and warmth brought a little comfort. He ventured to chew a little more of the raw meat and this time felt no evil effects. Thinking over the situation, he came to the conclusion that this could not be the Fish River. He would not follow it but would strike due west in the hope of running into some settlement or camp.