My wood was mostly under the snow, and it was with great difficulty that I could get enough to start a fire with.
My prospects were gloomy indeed.

I had just faced death at the hands of the Indians, and now I was in danger of losing my life from starvation and cold.

I knew that the heavy snow would surely delay Harrington on his return; and I feared that he might have perished in the storm, or that some other accident might have befallen him.

Perhaps some wandering band of Indians had run across him and killed him.
I was continually thinking of all these possibilities, and I must say that my outlook seemed desperate.

At last the twentieth day arrived--the day on which Harrington was to return--and I counted the hours from morning till night, but the day passed away with no signs of Harrington.