When almost an hour had passed, and he reckoned that he was possibly half way back to the tree that had been a haven of refuge to him in that fight with the wounded buck, he took heart of grace, and hope began to rise stronger in his breast; but only for a brief space of time.
Then he took notice of the fact that the lazy flakes were beginning to descend more thickly and it began to look as though the air would soon be filled with the feathered harbingers of coming winter, until he could not see ten feet away.
The remembrance of that single match gave him a strange sense of comfort, small item that it might be reckoned. What did cause him to fret, though, was the possibility of the ground soon being so covered with the snow that he could no longer find his own late trail, and must give over the hope of reaching supplies under the big tree.
Five minutes later and he realized that this condition really faced him, since he was now utterly unable to discern the faintest trace of his footprints; while around him stretched the vast woods, each quarter looking the same in the rapidly descending snow.
He had taken his bearings after a fashion, and continued to stumble along for a little while, in the hope that he might by good luck run across the tree in which he had fastened the antlered head of the buck.
Finally Felix realized the hopelessness of his hunt, and determined to make a camp, where he could hold out the best way possible against cold and hunger. Imagine his utter dismay when he discovered that in some strange manner his little ditty bag, containing that one precious match, must have been detached by some officious branch, when he was making his way along. At least, it had utterly disappeared, and he was now facing a condition rendered doubly bad on account of the increasing cold which deemed to come with the snow.
[CHAPTER X—TURNING THE TABLES]
The discovery that he had now no possible means for fighting the cold, that was sure to increase as the day wore on and night approached, gave Felix a rude shock.
He faced a situation that might prove very serious indeed; and it was little wonder that he instituted an eager search of all his pockets, in the faint hope that he might in some way manage to find just one fugitive match that had escaped the spoilers, and in the end prove, his salvation.
Only keen disappointment rewarded his efforts; and after going three times over every pocket, he was forced to give it up with a grunt of disgust.