Keenly he watched the fire.

Was it taking hold of the black lumps?
The flames were dying down.

The wood had nearly burned itself out.
The black lumps were charred and dead, and with their dying died his hopes.
He glanced out upon the ravine.

Large soft flakes of snow were falling lazily through the trees.
"I'll get my blankets and grub under cover, and get some more wood for the night.

It's going to be cold." He heaped the remains of the wood he had gathered upon the fire, and with great difficulty, for his foot was growing more and more painful with every move, he set about gathering wood, of which there was abundance near at hand, and making himself snug for the night.