Each moment added to his conviction, and as he thrust the muzzle of his gun ahead of him, his finger hovering near the trigger and his snow-blinded eyes staring ahead into the storm, something like a sob escaped his lips.
Ahead of him the stream narrowed until it almost buried itself under a mass of towering cedars.

The closeness of the forest walls now added to the general gloom, intensified by the first gray pallor of the Northern dusk, which begins to fall in these regions early in the afternoon of November days.

For a moment, just before plunging into the gloomy trail between the cedars, Wabi stopped and listened.

He heard nothing but the beating of his own heart, which worked like a trip-hammer within his breast.

The stillness was oppressive.