Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1902-08-18
g. &esoSe@;4S 4S1eo ees7 :6> 80
y y TO BUILD A FIRE = =
BY JACK LONDON.

snow to make the trap complete.
To Tom Vincent's eye the unbroken
snow surface gave no warning of the
lurking danger. AS the crust was
thicker at the edge he was well toward
the middle before he broke through.
In itself it was very insignificant
mishap-a man does not drown in
twelve inches of water-but in its con-
sequences as serious an accident as
could possibly befall him.
At the instant he broke through he
felt the cold water strike his feet and
ankles, and with half q dozen lunges
he made the bank. He was quite cool
and collected. The thing to do, and the
only thing to do, was to build fire.
For another precept of the north runs:
Travel with wet socks down to twenty
below zero; after that build fire. And
it was three times twenty below and
colder, and he knew it.
He knew, further, that great care
must be exercised; that with failure
at the first attempt the chance was
made greater for failure at the second
attempt. In short, he knew that there
must be no failure. The moment be-
fore strong, eXulting man, boastful
of his mastery of the elements, he was
now fighting for his life against those
same elements-such was the difference
caused by tie injection of quart Of
water into q northland travellers calcu-
lations.
In clump Of pines or the rim of the
bank the spring high water had lodged
many twigs and small branches. Thor
oughly dried by the summer sun they
now waited the match.
1t Is impossible to build a fire with
heavy Alaskan mittens on cne's hands,
SO Vincent barred his, gathered a suffi-
cicnt number of twigs, and knocking
the snow from them knelt down to kim
die his fire. From an inside pocket he
drew out his matches and n strip of
thin birch bark. The matches were of
the Klondike kind, sulphur matches,
100 in a bunch.
Ee noticed how quickly his fingers
had chilled as he separated one match
from the bunch and scratched it on his
trousers. The birch bark, like the dry
est of paper burst into bright fame.
This lie carefully fed with the smallest
twigs and finest debris, cherishing the
fame with the utmost care. 1t did not
do to hurry things, as he well know,
and although his fingers were now
quite stiff he did not hurry.
After the first quick, biting sensation
of cold his feet had ached with n
heavy, dull ache and were rapidly
growing numb. But the fire, although
very young one, was now a success,
and he knew that little SNOW, briskly
rubbed, would speedily cure his feet.
But ut the moment he was adding the
first thick twigs to the fire grievous
above his head We're burdened with a
four months snowfall, and so finely
adjusted We're the burdens that his
slight movements in collecting the
twigs had been sufficient to disturb
the balance.
The snow from the topmost bough
was the first to fall, striking and dis
lodging the snow on the boughs be-
meath. And all this snow, accumulat-
ing as it fell, smote Tom Vincent's
head and shoulders and blotted out his
fire.
He still kept his presence of mind,
for he knew how great his danger was.
He started at once to rebuild the fire,
but his fingers Were now so cold that
he could not bend them, and he was
forced to pick up each twig and splint-
er between the tips of the fingers Of
either hand.
When he came to the match he en-
countered great difficulty in separating
one from the bunch. This he succeed
ed in managing, however, and also, by
n great effort, in clutching the match
between his thumb and forefinger. But
in scratching it he dropped it in the
snow and could not pick it up again.
He stood up, desperate. He could
not feel even his weight on his feet, al
though the ankles were aching pain
fully. Putting on his mittens, he
stepped to one side so that the snow
would not fall upon the new fire he
was to build and beat his hands vio-
lently against tree trunk.
This enabled him to separate and
strike second match and to set fire to
the remaining fragment Of birch bark
But his body had now begun to chill,
and he was shivering, so that when he
tried to add the first twigs his hand
shook and the tiny fame was quenched.
The frost had beaten him. His hands
were worthless. But he had the fore
sight to drop the bunch of matches
into his wide mouthed outside pocket
before he slipped on his mittens in de-
spair, and started to run up the trail.
One cannot run the frost out of wet
feet at sixty below and colder, how
ever, as he quickly discovered.
He came round n sharp turn of the
creek to where he could look ahead for
a mile. But there was no help, no sign
of help, only the white trees and the
white hills, the quiet cold and the bra
zen silence! If only he had q comrade