The snow had stopped, but a bitter wind blew down the valley and the cold was intense.

When he had eaten a meal Thirlwell sat with his back to a snow bank and a big fire in front, holding up a moccasin to the blaze.

This was necessary because moccasins absorb moisture during a long day's march, and the man who puts them on while damp risks getting frozen feet.
He was lighting his pipe when the _Metis_ he had sent out for wood came back with an armful of branches and said he had seen a light up the river.

Thirlwell put on his half-dried moccasins and reluctantly left the camp.

He had met nobody but an Indian on the trail and was curious to know who was camping in those solitudes.