They were worn and hungry, for the shortage of provisions had been a constant trouble, and such supplies as they obtained from Indians, who seldom had much to spare, soon ran out.

Once or twice they had feasted royally after shooting a big bull moose, but the frozen meat they were able to carry did not last long, and again they were threatened with starvation.
It was a calm evening, with a coppery sunset flaring across the snow, but intensely cold; and though the men had wood enough and sat close beside a fire, with their ragged blankets wrapped round them, they could not keep warm.

Harding and Benson were openly dejected, but Blake had somehow preserved his cheerful serenity.

As usual after finishing their scanty supper, they began to talk, for during the day conversation was limited by the toil of the march.
"No good," Harding said, taking a few bits of resin out of a bag.
"It's common fir gum, such as I could gather a carload of in the forests of Michigan.

Guess there's something wrong with my theory about the effects of extreme cold." He took a larger lump from a neat leather case.