In the early morning when all was gray and the big, dark pines were shadowy specters, Slone was awakened by the cold.

His hands were so numb that he had difficulty starting a fire.

He stood over the blaze, warming them.

The air was nipping, clear and thin, and sweet with frosty fragrance.
Daylight came while he was in the midst of his morning meal.

A white frost covered the ground and crackled under his feet as he went out to bring in the horses.