It was lucky they were still able to make a fire. The flames gave them warmth and kept the wolves at bay. But for that and the occasional small game they had been able to shoot, they would have perished long ago, and then the gold-fever would have claimed two victims more. For days and days they had tramped aimlessly through that wild region, prospecting for the yellow metal, until, footsore and weary, nature at last gave way. They had lost their bearings and could go no farther. Miles away from the nearest human habitation, they were face to face with death from starvation. Then the weather changed; it suddenly grew very cold; before they knew it, the blizzard was upon them. The suffering had been terrible, the obstacles inconceivable, yet they never faltered. A goal lay before them, and they pushed right on, determined to attain it. The prospector for gold plays for heavy stakes--a fortune or his life. Never willing to acknowledge defeat, undeterred by continual, heart-breaking disappointment, still he pushes on. Spurred by the irresistible lure of gold, there is no place so dangerous or so difficult of access that he will not penetrate to it. In winter he perishes of cold, in summer he is overcome by the heat, yet no matter. Nothing short of death itself can stop him in his determined, insensate quest for wealth. It grew gradually lighter. The sky was overcast and threatening. A light snow began to fall. One of the men shivered and opened his eyes. Looking stupidly about him, with a long-drawn-out yawn, first at the dying fire, then at his still unconscious mate, he jumped up with a shout. At first he was too dazed with sleep to stand straight, and his teeth chattered from the cold. He was also ravenously hungry. But first they must think of the fire. That must be kept up at all costs. He was so weak that he staggered, and his clothes hung from him in rags; but shambling over to where his companion lay, he shook him roughly: "Hello, Jim--hello, there! The d----d fire is almost out. Quick, man!"