Silence and hell heat shut down on him like a coffin lid.

Even the lamp flame close beside him seemed to grow dim; the weight of black night that was suffocating him seemed to crush light out of the flame as well.
No living mortal could endure that, he imagined.

He swore aloud, but there was no answer, so he got up, after crashing his rifle-butt down on the floor to scare away anything that crawled.

For a moment he stood, undecided whether to take the lamp or rifle with him--then decided on the rifle, for the lamp might blow out in some unexpected night gust, whereas if he left it where it was it would go on burning and show him the way back to bed again.

Besides, he was too unaccustomed to the joy of owning the last new thing in sporting rifles to hesitate for long about what to keep within his grasp.
Through the open door he could see nothing but pitch-blackness, unpunctuated even by a single star.