All thought of trying to find the tree in which the venison hung now passed from his mind; and he devoted his efforts to searching for some friendly hollow, where he could make a shelter in some rude fashion against the night that would come after a while, for it must by now be about the middle of the short day.
What would he not have been willing to pay for a little box of safety matches, that sell for a penny in town? But he might as well wish for the moon; as one was as easy to secure as the other, just then.
So he pushed on, staggering through the increasing snow fall. When he was indifferent to such a thing, he had noted several splendid places where he might have found decent shelter, and built up a refuge against the storm; but now that the need had arisen, Fate seemed to take an especial delight in baffling him, for, look as he would, he did not come across anything that appealed to his fancy.
Rendered desperate at length, when he found his strength giving out on account of his unusual exertions during the two days, and the rough treatment he had received both from the wounded buck and the angry desperadoes, Felix finally made up his mind that he could wait no longer for what he wanted, but must make a virtue of necessity, and take what offered.
So, coming across a tree that had fallen during some violent wind storm, he saw that when the roots had been torn up quite a large patch of earth had come along with them. The hollow back of this barrier would prove a very good refuge against the storm, for it happened to face in the best possible way.
Here in this hole, then, he must burrow, doing the best he knew how to hide from the wind that blew the snow with such violence. Felix set about carrying out this idea without further loss of time.
Of course it was but an apology of a den after all; though much better than remaining out where the cold wind had a sweep at him. Here he settled down to pass the balance of that dreary afternoon, which he remembered must be followed by a night he was not soon apt to forget.
Bitter regrets swept over him from time to time, as he lay there huddled in a heap. Never again would he be caught so easily by soft words, when he ought to know these were only a mask to hide treacherous work.
And then, after taking himself to task in this manner, most severely, Felix would recollect that even an experienced woodsman may make a mistake occasionally. Look at old Charley Crow, for instance, a man born and brought up in the wilderness, and accustomed to handling a gun from childhood; yet had he not been incautious enough to draw his rifle toward him, muzzle first, through some bushes, with the result that the weapon had been discharged, sending the bullet through the arm of the old halfbreed?
Yes, some others besides greenhorns in the woods, make mistakes occasionally.