Douglas instantly remembered what had occurred, and fully realized his forlorn and helpless condition. But he was not one to yield to despair. Lying there desperately wounded—in a wilderness full of savage enemies, and far from any settlement—he resolved to outwit death or die gamely. He began an examination of himself and his surroundings. He found that he still lay at the foot of the tree where he had fallen. His wound had ceased to bleed, but his hunting-shirt was stiff with frozen blood; and the saline taste of the crimson life-tide was yet in his throat. Every breath caused him a pang; and a deep inspiration gave him excruciating torture. But he could move his arms and legs without much pain or difficulty. Again he essayed to arise, but fell back with a groan; he was too weak from fasting and loss of blood. “If only I could get upon my feet!” he murmured. “I shall freeze here.” Seeing that his master could not arise, Duke had returned to his former position. Now he tilted his muzzle aloft and bayed mournfully. “There—there, old fellow!” Ross said soothingly. “Keep up your courage. Things are not entirely hopeless so long as we two are together. Ah! Perhaps you can help me to get up. Here, let me get my arms around your neck. That’s it. Now, Duke, pull—pull!” The bloodhound was accustomed to obeying his master’s every command. Digging his claws into the flinty earth, he stretched his lithe, muscular body, in an attempt to do the bidding of the being he loved. Ross clung tenaciously to the noble animal’s neck. The result was he was dragged to a sitting posture. The effort cost him much pain, but he gained his object. Duke was delighted; he ran about in a circle and barked vociferously. Leaning his back against the tree-trunk, Douglas panted: “This is better! I’m off the flat of my back—half-way upon my feet. After a short rest I’ll make a further effort. What should I have done without my faithful dog?” In attempting to shift himself to an easier position, he placed his hand upon his gun, which was lying where he had dropped it. With a joyful exclamation, he caught it up and feebly dragged it across his lap. Then, taking the skirt of his hunting-shirt, he carefully wiped and dried the weapon, remarking to himself as he did so: “I have a gun—I have ammunition—I have flint and steel. If I can manage to light a fire, I shall be in no danger of freezing. Then, perhaps, I may be able to shoot some animal for food—provided it comes near my camp. I must have something to eat.” He sighed breathlessly. Then drawing his legs well under him and using his gun as an aid, he commenced slowly to arise to a standing posture, all the time keeping his back firmly pressed against the tree-trunk. The task was a herculean one; but after several failures he succeeded. Duke simply went wild with delight, rolling over and over in the snow and barking frantically.