As he moved on, he saw some miles ahead that which decided him.  A low chain of hills, stretching to the north and south, crossed the great divide as a fallen log spans a path.  In these hills, appreciable even at this distance, there was a dip, an almost level pass.  A small diversity it was on the face of nature, but to a weary man, fleeing afoot, seen in the distance it would irresistibly appeal.  Almost as certain as though he saw the black figure already heading for it, the hunter felt it would be utilized.  Anyway, he would take the chance; and with a last spurt of speed he put himself fairly in its way.  To clear a narrow strip of ground the length of his body, and build around it like a breastwork a border of snow, was the work of but a few minutes; then, wrapped in his blanket, too deadly tired to even attempt to eat, he dropped behind the cover like a log.  At first the rest was that of Paradise; but swiftly came the reaction, the chill.  To lie there in his present condition meant but one thing, that never would he arise again; and with an effort the man got to his feet and started walking.  It was dark again now, and the sky was becoming rapidly overcast.  Within an hour it began to snow, a steady big-flaked snow that fairly filled the air and lay where it fell.  The night grew slightly warmer, and, rolling in the blanket once more, Ben lay down; but the warning chill soon had him again upon his feet, walking back and forth in the one beaten path.

Very long the two previous nights had been.  Interminable seemed this third.  As long as the sun or moon or stars were shining, the man never felt completely alone; but in this utter darkness the hours seemed like days.  The steadily falling snowflakes added to the impression of loneliness and isolation.  They were like the falling clods of earth in a grave:  something crowding between him and life, burying and suffocating him where he stood.  Try as he might, the man could not shake off the weird impression, and at last he ceased the effort.  Grimly stolid, he lit his pipe, and, his damp clothing having dried at last, cleared a fresh spot and lay down, the horrible loneliness still tugging at his heart.

Finally, after an eternity of waiting, the morning came.  With it the storm ceased and the sun shone brightly.  Behind the barricade, Ben Blair ate the last of his beef and drank the few remaining swallows of water from his canteen.  His muscles were stiff from the inaction, and, not wishing to show himself, he kicked vigorously into space as he lay.  At intervals he made inspection of the east, looking out over the glitter of white; but not a living thing was in sight.  An hour he watched, two hours, while the sun, beating down obliquely, warmed him back into activity; then of a sudden his eyes became fixed, the grip upon his rifle tightened.  Far to the southeast, something dark against the snow was moving,—­was coming toward him.

Rapidly the figure approached, while lower behind the barricade dropped the body of Benjamin Blair.  The sun was in his eyes, so that as yet he could not make out whether it was man or beast.  Not until the object was within three hundred yards, until it passed by to the north, did Ben make out that it was a great gray wolf headed straight for the bed of Bad River.