The old man remained motionless, with the stolidity of the veteran hunter waiting to make sure. Torpor rapidly seized on Parker's mind. He shouted as best he could, but his voice was hoarse from hours of shouting into the vastness of the deserted woods. His faculties were growing befogged. He dared not exert himself enough to keep awake, for his rock was but a narrow bulwark. It seemed to be a choice of deaths, only. At last he desperately leaped up and danced behind his protecting boulder, uttering such cries as he could. But he saw the old man throw his rifle up and take aim. Down he dropped, and the bullet sang overhead. He realized then that his garb made him resemble some strange beast--a bear, perhaps--and he gritted his teeth as he pondered that this might be part of Gideon Ward's vindictive scheme. If he attempted to show himself long enough to convince the old man that he was human he would only be inviting the bullet. Until his blurring senses left him he occasionally shouted or thrust up his head; but the old still-hunter was relentless, and evidently had not the clear vision of a youth. He was always ready with a shot. At last, with tears freezing on his cheeks, Parker gave himself up to the fatuous comfort of the man succumbing to cold and hunger. CHAPTER TWELVE--THE STRANGE “CAT-HERMIT OF MOXIE” Afterward it seemed that he began to dream. Somber individuals were crushing his limbs between great rollers. Frisky little ghouls were sticking needles into him, and there were so many needles that it seemed that every inch of his skin was being tortured at the same instant. [Illustration: Every inch of his skin was being tortured 197-224] The agony grew intense. He was trying to cry out, and a giant hand was over his mouth. And when the pain became so excruciating that it did not seem as if nature could longer endure it, he opened his eyes. A sludge-dish hooked to a beam shed its yellow glimmer of light upon a strange interior. There was no more strange figure in the place than Parker himself. He was stripped and seated in a half-hogshead filled with water, from which vapors were rising. His first wild thought was that the water was hot and was blistering him. He screamed in the agony of alarm and strove to rise. But hands on his shoulders forced him down again. These hands were rubbing snow upon him. Then the young man realized that his sensations were produced by icy cold water. Parker felt that cloths bound snow and ice to his ears and face. A glance showed him that he was in a rude log camp. The chinked walls were bare and solid. The interior was spacious, and a big fireplace promised warmth.