Thus had Rod come to look upon his rifle.

He rubbed the barrel now with his mittens; he polished the stock as he sat in his loneliness, and long afterward, though he had determined to remain awake during the night, he fell asleep with it clasped tightly in his hands.
It was an uneasy, troubled slumber in which the young adventurer's visions and fears took a more realistic form.

He half sat, half lay, upon his cedar boughs; his head fell forward upon his breast, his feet were stretched out to the fire.

Now and then unintelligible sounds fell from his lips, and he would start suddenly as if about to awaken, but each time would sink back into his restless sleep, still clutching the gun.
The visions in his head began to take a more definite form.

Once more he was on the trail, and had come to the old cabin.