In looking back he could not even
distinguish the timber line from which he had come. Then the awful
conviction slowly forced itself upon him that he was lost in a
trackless wilderness, swept by the first fury of an Arctic blizzard.
CHAPTER XXV.
LOST IN A BLIZZARD.
So numbed was our poor lad by the shock of his discovery that, for a
few moments, he stood motionless. Of course it would be of no use to
continue his hopeless struggle. Even if he had come in the right
direction he must ere this have passed the place where his companions
were encamped. If he could only regain the timber there might be a
slight chance of surviving the night; but even its location was lost to
him, and a certain death stared him in the face. At any rate it would
be a painless ending, for he had only to lie down to be quickly covered
by a soft blanket of snow. Then he could go to sleep never again to
waken. He was very weary, and already so drowsy that the thought of
sleep was pleasant to him. Such a death would certainly not be so
terrible as drowning after a hopeless struggle with black waters.
With this thought every incident of that awful night after the loss of
the "Lavinia" flashed into his mind. How utterly hopeless had seemed
his situation then and how desperately he had fought for his life. But
he had fought, and had won the fight. What was the use of learning a
lesson of that kind if he could not profit by it? Was not his life as
well worth fighting for now as then? Of course it was; nor was his
present position any more hopeless than that one had been.
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