This did not daunt him badly.

After all, life had not much to offer an outcast; he had managed to extract some amusement from it, but he had nothing to look forward to.

There was no prospect of his making money--his talents were not commercial--and the hardships he could bear now would press on him more heavily as he grew older.
These considerations, however, were too philosophical for him to dwell on.

He was essentially a man of action, and was feeling unpleasantly hungry, and he quickened his pace, knowing that the chance of his getting a shot at a caribou in the open was small.
The moon had not risen when he reached the bluff, but the snow reflected a faint light and he noticed a row of small depressions on its surface.

Kneeling down, he examined them, but there had been wind during the day and the marks were blurred.