The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1908-09-30

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IANhNI..I,'9ilNI;E|aR| D
A GRITTY FIGHT FOR LIFE

comfort relSneQ around lne llItle
campfire that evening; pipes were
smoked and tea brewed, material ac-
compartments to chat and cheer
Then some one asked a question;
just what, is immaterial; only the
answer matters.
Boys" said Puflle seriously, 81
thought that last winter l was all
out of it, Close call, you ask? Well,
pretty close, l had started out from
Revelstroke with the usual outfit, a
twenty-five foot Peterboro loaded
down to about the six hundred
pound limit with all my traps, |
went away up Canoe River and had
been having pretty good luck, when,
boys, l played the fool. l got in q
hurry. | took overlong hikes and
ate cold grub to save time. We fell
lows don't dare do that No man in
the winter woods can stand cold
grub; he must cook welt and take
his rest. Then it doesn't matter if
he has to wade creeks and sleep wet
and live wet days at a time; he can
resist it, he's got the fuel in him.
We have rule that when we get in
hurry, we must camp whole day
and think it over. When | found
myself going, did camp and think
it over, but l guess l was a bit late
about it. l dug Oregon grape and
princess ZINE and boiled them down
for blood tonic and was lucky enough
TO find some foxglove for my heart,
which had begun to kick too hard
when climbed. Then | hurt my foot
before the roots had put me in shape,
and when l found a toe black one
morning I knew ] must pull down
river. l cached my stuff and started.
l had to hurry then.
All day I snowshoed biting hard
on bit of pine to forget the pain.
Nights I'd find hollow cedar log,
cut holes in it about ten feet apart
for draft, kindle fire at the end and
| lie down on the log. When the fire
| had burned up to the draft hole at
my foot l moved up another hole.
When l couldn't find log I'd dig a
| pit down in the snow, kindle a brush
fire in it and sleep at the edge of
| the ashes. l reached Smith Creek
all right, and by then my whole foot
was black Boys-may | live to for
| get i'll fell in crossing that creek;
| fell in over head and ears in ice wat
er, and nothing between me and Rev
| elstoke to help me. If l stopped, be-
sides the certainty of freezing, /
knew my hurt would never let me
start again, and l didn't think could
keep going. l felt | was gone, but |
| resolved I'd die hard and play the
game through. Off | hiked on the
raquettes; awful going it was, the
pain killing me by inches and every
rag on me frozen solid. Night came;
| kept on like a madman, for l dared
not stop a second. If | drowsed an
instant was dead. reached White
cabin; all nature urged me to go in
for a rest. l had reason enough to
know it would be my last rest, so
hit the trail steady with an awful
limp. I prayed Kelly might be in
his cabin, but it was cold and shut.
When l reached Mosquito Landing
was dying, but the thought of only
six miles more kept me going. When
had been hiking steady for over
forty-two hours l fell into my own
door and things swan and went
dark. 1t was three months even to
| crutches. The sawbones all said I'd
die, but didn't fool EN-? Going out
again next winter? Sure. I've got
to go back for that cache. A man
must live, you know-B. w. Mitch
ell, in the Outing Magazine.