Muskwa had not even a thumb to hang to.

The bottoms of his feet were like boils; his tender nose was raw from contact with brush and the knife-edged marsh grass, and his little back felt all caved in.

Still he hung on desperately, until the creek-bottom was again sand and gravel, and travelling was easier.
The stars were up now, millions of them, clear and brilliant; and it was quite evident that Thor had set his mind on an "all-night hike," a _kuppatipsk pimootao_ as a Cree tracker would have called it.

Just how it would have ended for Muskwa is a matter of conjecture had not the spirits of thunder and rain and lightning put their heads together to give him a rest.
For perhaps an hour the stars were undimmed, and Thor kept on like a heathen without a soul, while Muskwa limped on all four feet.

Then a low rumbling gathered in the west.