And in the
night he fell many times as he drew into camp. And I, too, made
to suffer great weakness, stumbling over my snowshoes as though
each step might be my last. And we gathered strength from our
moccasins.
'He was a great man. His soul lifted his body to the last; nor
did he cry aloud, save for the sake of Unga. On the second day I
followed him, that I might not miss the end. And he lay down to
rest often. That night he was near gone; but in the morning he
swore weakly and went forth again. He was like a drunken man, and
I looked many times for him to give up, but his was the strength
of the strong, and his soul the soul of a giant, for he lifted
his body through all the weary day. And he shot two ptarmigan,
but would not eat them. He needed no fire; they meant life; but
his thought was for Unga, and he turned toward camp.
'He no longer walked, but crawled on hand and knee through the
snow. I came to him, and read death in his eyes. Even then it was
not too late to eat of the ptarmigan. He cast away his rifle and
carried the birds in his mouth like a dog. I walked by his side,
upright. And he looked at me during the moments he rested, and
wondered that I was so strong.
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