Twice he thought he heard a reply, and each time the will-o'-the-wisp voice seemed to be still farther ahead of him.

Then, with a fiercer blast of the wind beating upon his back, he stumbled and fell forward upon his face.

His hand reached out and touched the thing that had tripped him.
It was not snow.

His naked fingers clutched in something soft and furry.
It was a man's coat.

He could feel buttons, a belt, and the sudden thrill of a bearded face.
He stood up.