"If it doesn't--" He was thinking of Breault as he drew off his mittens and fumbled for a match.

It was Breault he feared.

The Ferret would find his cabin and his trail if the storm died out too soon.
He lighted the tin lamp on his table and after that, assured that wastefulness would cost him nothing now, he set two bear-drip candles going, one at each end of the cabin.

The illumination filled the single room.

There was little for it to reveal--the table he had made, a chair, a battered little sheet-iron stove, and the humped up blanket in his bunk, under which he had stored the remainder of his possessions.