Pringle, Roche, and Fritz were separated from these, but kept together, and by the use of all their strength and sagacity succeeded in eluding the Indians and hiding themselves in the snow-covered forest.
All was desolation around them.

A heavy snowstorm gathered and burst.

They were hopelessly separated from their comrades, and Fritz, who was their guide in woodcraft, was wounded in the head, and in a strangely dazed condition.
"I can take you to Rogers' camp, nevertheless," he kept repeating.
"We must not lie down, or we shall die.

But I can find the road--I can find the road.

I know the forest in all its aspects; I shall not lose the way." It was a terrible night.