Extra ammunition for their rifles and all of the food had been on the pack horses. Most of the heavy clothing was packed also, as this storm was completely unexpected.

The party of seven winter vacationers had left from the small Canadian town of Gold Bar shortly after sunrise and had made good time before the storm struck. But now dusk was forming shadows which concealed strange noises and which seemed to be attracting more strange noises, all familiar to the quiet young man from Wisconsin, but quite ominous to the tall, pale Englishman.

"Well, I guess we'd better see about getting something to eat.", the young man suggested lightly.

"A very good idea," the Englishman said approvingly. "My gun is loaded."

"The light is so poor now, there is a good chance you'd miss and even one shot would scare away any nearby game. It would be better to set some snares and dead-falls right now, and then we'll have something to eat by morning." the young man said. Then, extending his hand, "By the way, my name is Bill, Bill Makeiver."

"Quite glad to know you, Bill. I'm Charles Glaslow. And you're undoubtedly right about shooting the gun. But I don't have the vaguest idea on how to make any of those things of which you spoke."

"That's all right, Mr. Glaslow. I can handle that part. Our parkas are warm, but since we have no blankets, we'll need a large supply of firewood - large enough to last all night. Build up a small fire so I'll be able to find my way back, will you?" Makeiver said and tossed a small, watertight can of matches to Glaslow.

"Yes, yes, of course. I'll get right to it." he replied, glad to have something to do.

Bill unsheathed his knife and began to move out of the small clearing and into the surrounding darkness of the snow-blanketed spruce when the Englishman called after him in a low, strained voice, "What do I do if one of those beasts out there decides I look good to eat?"

Smothering a burst of laughter and almost choking, Bill relieved his companion by saying, "Those 'beasts' won't bother you, Mr. Glaslow. They would only attack a person if they were starving but since other game is very plentiful in this part of the country I think we're safe enough."

Three quarters of an hour later, Bill walk stiffly into a small circle of light to find Charles Glaslow, head down and rear up, steadily puffing at the small flame that was slowly spreading into the larger branches.

"I hope you like roast rabbit, Mr. Glaslow, because I was lucky enough to find a rabbit in the first snare I set."

Glaslow started at the voice then said "Good show, Bill! I was beginning to get a bit hungry."

That night, both men slept by a warm fire with stomachs half full of roasted rabbit.

Just before sunrise the tall man stirred, then jumped unsteadily to his feet with the realization of where he was. The fire, though nearly out now, had kept him from freezing during the night, but the chill he felt was as much from feeling alone as from the cold. As he gradually recalled the circumstances which had brought him here, the Englishman peered about in the pre-dawn light for some sign of his young companion.

"Well, you're finally up, and now you'll want some breakfast I suppose." Bill observed from behind the groggy man.

Glaslow jerked a bit as he turned to face the returning woodsman. Detecting his new friend's mock sarcasm, a broad grin spread across Charles Glaslow's face, and in the same tone he replied, "Yes, if it won't trouble you to fix a nice, big bowl of nice, warm snow soup for me."

Bill Makeiver extended his arm to display the dangling forms of a squirrel, a rabbit and two silver fox. The latter had been caught as they both passed under the same dead-fall.

The Englishman's eyes became unusually large, and executing a low, sweeping bow, he said "I'm in your debt, young man".

Long before the sun neared the peak of its arc, the men, much less chilled and full of warm food, had decided it would be best to go south and try to find the town of Gold Bar and some warm clothing.

Using one of nature's many day-time compasses, Bill Makeiver, followed closely by Charles Glaslow, struck south toward Gold Bar and the only starving wolf pack within two hundred miles of them.

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Ted Cantrall                    UCO/Lick Observatory
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