He was suffering either from overwhelming nervous and physical exhaustion, or he had contracted malaria in the swamps of the Guadalupe.

Despite every effort of the will, he began to shake with cold, and he knew that a chill was coming.
He had retained his blankets, his frontiersman's foresight not deserting him, and now, knowing that he could not continue his flight for the present, he sought the deepest part of the thicket.

He crept into a place so dense that it would have been suited for an animal's den, and lying down there he wrapped the blankets tightly about himself, his rifle and his ammunition.
In spite of his clothing and the warm blankets he grew colder and colder.

His teeth chattered and he shivered all over.

He would not have minded that so much, but his head ached with great violence, and the least light hurt his eyes.