Cold flakes stung his face, and a creeping haze obscured his view in the direction where he expected to find the next woods.

He was within a hundred yards of the nearest trees when he saw them, and as he left the woods it was snowing hard.
His heart sank as he launched out into the open, for he had now no guide, and having neither ax nor blanket he could not make a fire and camp in a bluff, even if he could find one.

It looked as if he must perish should he fail to reach the camp.
He had only a hazy recollection of floundering on, passing a bluff he could not locate, and here and there a white rock, while the snow fell thicker and its surface got worse.

Then, when he felt he could go no farther, he heard a howl behind him, and then another.
With the wolves on his trail, Blake quickened his speed to his utmost limit.

As a last resort he could throw away the meat, and they would stop for that; but they were still some distance back of him and he held on grimly to his precious load.