"I must get a little sleep now," he said to himself, "as I didn't get any too much last night, and, of course, can't take any at all to-night. For if I slept without a fire in this weather, I'd freeze to death, and it would never do to build a fire up here at night, when it could be seen for miles away."
Healthy boy that he was, he fell almost immediately into slumber, and it was nightfall when he woke. He took the risk of throwing two or three small sticks on his well-hidden fire, in order to broil one of his partridges for his supper. That done, he repacked his blanket, took up his gun, and set out again on his search for that something for which he had been looking all day.
All night long Tom toiled about, up and down hills, over rocks and cliffs, through snow that was now beginning to soften as the weather was growing milder, but the search resulted in nothing. When morning came, the well-nigh exhausted boy sought out what seemed a safe spot for the purpose, created a little fire, cooked three partridges and ate them, seasoning them with a little salt which he always, on his hunting trips, carried in a little India rubber tobacco bag. Then he stretched himself out for a sleep, no longer fearing to freeze, as the weather had become very much warmer than before.
It was four o'clock in the afternoon when Tom awoke. As he did so, he felt a hand pulling at that part of his blanket in which his head was wrapped—for all huntsmen and all soldiers, when they sleep in the open, even in the warmest weather, find it necessary to wrap up their heads.
He felt a hand pulling at his blanket.
"Well, law's sakes!" exclaimed the mountaineer, who, rifle in hand, was bending over him, "Ef it ain't Little Tom! Well, I'm glad I didn't shoot, as I was fust off about to! Why, Tom, I wouldn't have shot you fer another of the Doctor's twenty dollar bills! No, not fer a pocket full of 'em! You don't know what you done fer me an' fer my little gal when you pay-rolled me"—the man always pronounced "parole" "pay-roll." "You see, I got home jest in time to save the little gal from starvin'. Her mother was dead in the cabin—you 'member I tole you she was consumptive like—well, she got to bleedin' one day at the nose an' mouth an' jist quit livin' like. So the little gal was left all alone there, an' there wan't nothin' whatsomever in the place to eat an' of course a little gal only six year old didn't know what to do. So fur two days before I got there she hadn't had a mouthful. Well, I had a little left from what you fellers had giv' me to eat when I left camp, an' I fust off fed her on that. It made her sick like, 'cause she hadn't been used to eatin' as you mout say, an' maybe I give her too much at oncet. But she quick got over that, an' I had that twenty dollar bill! You jest bet I hustled off down into the holler to a still an' brought some o' the ground up corn an' rye an' a gallon of the 'lasses that they uses with it to make whiskey out'n an' took it home fer the little gal to eat."
"I am very sorry," said Tom, "to hear of your wife's death, but very glad you got home in time to save the little girl."