The raft was motionless now, some distance out upon the lake.  Slowly Reynolds forced it to the shore, and secured it in a little cove.

“I might as well stay here for the night,” he muttered.  “It may be clear to-morrow which will enable me to see farther.  Oh, for something to eat!”

With much difficulty he started a fire, for the wood was wet, and then warmed himself before the cheerful blaze.  It was not raining so hard now, for which he was thankful.  He tried to dry his rags of clothes by hanging them on sticks near the fire.  His boots were off his feet, with the uppers alone clinging to his ankles.  Removing these, he examined them.  Then an idea flashed into his mind.  He had heard of men eating their boots in their extremity, and why should not he!  It was worth the try, at any rate.

It took him but a second to whip out his knife and cut a piece from the top of one of the boots.  This he washed clean in the lake, and tasted it.  Only one on the extreme verge of starvation can in any manner comprehend what even a portion of a boot means.  There is some nourishment there, as Reynolds soon found.  Almost ravenously he chewed that piece of leather, extracting from it whatever life-giving substance it contained.  When it had been converted to mere pulp, he helped himself to another piece.  He was in a most desperate situation, but if he could sustain his strength for another night and day he believed that his life would be spared.  Surely along that lake he would find human beings, whether Indians or whites he did not care, who would give him food.

He awoke early the next morning, and having partaken his breakfast of another piece of boot, he pushed off his raft.  There was only one way for him to go, and that was with the breeze which was drawing down the lake.  The mist was now lifting, and although he strained his eyes, he could see no sign of life.  He had to pole the raft now, and in order to do so he was forced to keep close to the shore where the water was shallow.

Thus all through the morning and far on into the afternoon he urged the raft forward with all the strength at his command.  There were so many curves to the shore that following these lengthened the voyage.  From point to point he moved, each time to be disappointed as he looked ahead and saw nothing but trees and water.

The sun was hot, and the perspiration poured down his face.  But with the energy of despair he drove his pole again and again into the water.  As the afternoon waned, and night drew near, the limit of his endurance was reached, and he knew that he could do no more.  He had struggled for life, but to no purpose.  Rest was all that he cared for now.  His head began to swim, and he sank exhausted upon the raft.  And there he lay, face downward, while the raft drifted at its own sweet will.  Presently a breeze sprang up and cooled the air.  But it did not affect Reynolds in the least.  He had fought to the last grain of strength, and when that left him he was beyond all sense of time, place, and feeling.