But Houston was fighting the last fight,--a fight that could not end until absolute, utter failure stood stark before him at the end of the road.
September became October with its rains, and its last flash of brilliant coloring from the lower hills, and then whiteness.

November had arrived, bringing with it the first snow and turning the whole, great, already desolate country into a desert of white.
It was cold now; the cook took on a new duty of the maintenance of hot pails of bran mash and salt water for the relief of frozen hands.

Heavy gum-shoes, worn over lighter footgear and reaching with felt-padded thickness far toward the knee, encased the feet.

Hands numbed, in spite of thick mittens; each week saw a new snowfall, bringing with it the consequent thaws and the hardening of the surface.

The snowshoe rabbit made its appearance, tracking the shadowy, silent woods with great, outlandish marks.