The old horse was so chilled that we could hardly get him to hobble; but we did not spare the whip.
From the shore we had still fifteen or twenty rods to go, in order to reach the camp back in the woods.

Rufus's clothes were frozen as stiff as boards; apparently he could not move.

We feared that the man would die on our hands.
We snatched off one of the side boards of his sled, laid him on it, and, taking it up like a stretcher, started to carry him up through the woods to the camp.
By that time his long overcoat and all the rest of his clothes were frozen so stiff and hard that he rolled round more like a log than a human body.
The path was rough and snowy.

In our haste we stumbled, and dropped him several times, but we rolled him on the board again, rushed on, and at last got him inside the camp.

Our morning fire had gone out.