The animals followed him and took
refuge at his feet.
Standing upon the pan, with the dogs huddled about him, he scanned the
naked shores, but no man or sign of human life was to be seen. How
long his own pan would hold together was a question, for the broken
ice, grinding against it, would steadily eat it away.
There was a steady drift of the ice toward the open sea. The wind was
bitterly cold. There was nothing to eat for himself and nothing to
feed the dogs, for the loaded komatik had long since disappeared
beneath the surface of the sea.
Exposed to the frigid wind, wet to the skin, and with no other
protection than the clothes upon his back, it seemed inevitable that
the cold would presently benumb him and that he would perish from it
even though his pan withstood the wearing effects of the water. The
pan was too small to admit of sufficient exercise to keep up the
circulation of blood, and though he slapped his arms around his
shoulders and stamped his feet, a deadening numbness was crawling over
him as the sun began to sink in the west and cold increased.
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