But he kept himself covered so well that none reached him, and the very wildness of his surroundings increased his sense of intense physical comfort.
He did not stir, except now and then to put a fresh chunk of wood on the fire, and the red blaze between Tayoga and himself was for a time the center of the world.

The cold, white fog was rolling up everywhere thick and impenetrable, and the fine rain, like a heavy dew that was distilled from it, fell incessantly.

Robert knew that it was moving up the valleys and clothing all the peaks and ridges.

He knew, too, that it would hide them from their enemies and his sense of comfort grew with the knowledge.
But his conviction that they were safe did not make him relax caution, and, since eye was useless in the fog, he made extreme call upon ear.
It seemed to him that the fog was a splendid conductor of sound.

It brought him the rustling of the foliage, the moaning of the light wind through the ravines, and, at last, another sound, sharp, distinct, a discordant note in the natural noises of the wilderness, which were always uniform and harmonious.