His face was disfigured with blood, the front of his coat was spattered with frozen clots of it.

His long hair had fallen in ropelike strands over his eyes and frozen there.

His lips were terrible.
"Good God!" gasped Philip.
He sprang forward and caught Jean as the half-breed staggered toward him.

Jean's body hung a weight in his arms.

His legs gave way under him, but for a moment the clutch of his fingers on Philip's shoulder were viselike.
"A little help, M'sieur," he gasped.