It was long before Alton awakened, and then it became evident that he was not wholly sensible.  Loss of blood, over-fatigue, exposure and hunger had left their mark on him, and while he rambled disjointedly a bitter wind sprang up.  It raged down the valley, bringing with it the cold of the Pole, and while the pines raised their wild voices, the water congealed in the kettle, and in spite of the great fire built outside it the tent grew icy.  At noon Tom of Okanagan glanced at his patient and shook his head, while Seaforth felt his misgivings confirmed as he saw his face.

“I guess we’ve got to wait for to-morrow.  There’ll be snow to-night,” he said.

It was a long day to Seaforth.  Alton moved restlessly in his sleep, or talked and laughed meaninglessly during most of it, while when his eyes closed Tom, who sat in a corner, laid the stone upon his lap and ground at his knife.  He had already rubbed the blade down to half its width, but was apparently not contented, and Seaforth felt colder and set his lips each time the harsh grating of steel broke through the roaring of the pines that swelled in volume as the wind increased.  It was seldom that either of them spoke, though the big axeman’s face would soften momentarily when Alton moaned a little in his sleep.  Then it grew sombre and impassive again save for the little gleam in the eyes, and Seaforth guessed what was in his companion’s thoughts as the hard, gnarled fingers tightened viciously on the steel.

Somehow the day wore through, and the snow came with the night.  It beat upon the canvas and fell hissing in the fire, which snapped and crackled the more fiercely, while acrid vapour crept into the tent, and now and then one of the men’s eyes would close a moment.  Seaforth had indeed roused himself several times with a jerk when Okanagan pointed to the roll of blankets and layer of springy twigs, and he saw that at last Alton was sleeping restfully.  Five minutes later the roar of the branches seemed to sink into a musical lullaby, and the last thing he saw was the big, impassive bushman sitting as still as the motionless figure beneath him on the opposite side of the tent.  Then he was wafted back to England on the wings of dreams.

It was broad daylight and warmer when he awakened.  Outside the fire crackled noisily, and the great pines rose spires of sombre green against a field of white.  Alton was also awake, and smiled at him, while Tom, who stood behind him, made a sign.

“It has got to be done right now before the frost comes back, but we’re not going to hurt you, Harry,” he said.  “You’ll walk down to the river and fill that kettle up, Charley.”