He flung himself on his face, his head on his arms, to rest and wait until the treacherous time of dawn should have passed.

While the day grew steadily his heart sank.

He needed the rest, but the cold bit into him while he lay extended, and the peril of the summit would be before him for his march of the day.

The wind mourned over him as if it anticipated his defeat.

Never had there been such wind, he thought.