He felt drowsily comfortable. The will to act was sinking as his vitality ebbed beneath the pressure of cold and hunger.
He gritted his teeth. “What! let my light go out afore I get a finishin’ crack at Denny Harrigan?”
In the blanket of night a pin-prick of red appeared. It moved, vanished, moved again.
“Dreamin’,” he grumbled. His head sunk on his chest. Once more he lifted his frosted eye-lids. The red point was moving.
“Last call fur supper,” he said; and bracing his hands against the cedar, he drew in a great breath and shouted.
“Hallo-o-o!” came faintly to him on the wind.
“Hallo-o-o—yerself,” he added, in a drowsy whisper. His last round was spent.
David Ross, on his way from Avery’s cabin to his own, heard the far-away call. He immediately turned and walked toward the spot where Axel was. As he drew near he circled about, peering under the bending branches. He looked here and there, holding the lantern high above his head. Nothing answered as he called. Nothing moved. He turned back toward the trail, round which twinkled the lights of Lost Farm Camp. The wind had hushed. The snow fell lazily. In the silence a rustling caught his ear. Axel, huddled against the cedar trunk, had slipped sideways, his coat scraping against the loose-fibred bark.
David traced the sound to a snowshoe sticking up in the drift beneath the tree. Then a moccasined foot, a red-striped stocking, and finally he was kneeling by the unconscious Barney, shaking him vigorously. The lumberman’s eyes slowly opened, then closed again heavily. David placed his lantern in the lee of the cedar and, kicking off one of his own racquettes, belabored Axel with it unsparingly.
Finally, the torpor broke and Axel opened his eyes. “A’right, a’right,” he muttered. “Git up in a minute—jest a minute—”