Tayoga laughed once more.

"While I jest with you I jest also with myself," he said. "Now we'll
sleep, since there is nothing else to do."

He drew his blanket up to his eyes, leaned against the stony wall and
slept. Robert could not imitate him. As the long afternoon, one of the
longest he had ever known, trailed its slow length away, he studied
the forest in front of them, where the cold and mournful rain was
still falling, a rain that had at least one advantage, as it had long
since obliterated all traces of a trail left by Tayoga on his scouting
expedition, although search as he would he could find no other profit
in it.

Night came, the rain ceased, and, as Tayoga had predicted, the intense
cold that arrived with the dark, froze it quickly, covering the earth
with a hard and polished glaze, smoother and more treacherous than
glass. It was impossible for the present to undertake flight over
such a surface, with a foe naturally vigilant at hand, and they made
themselves as comfortable as they could, while they awaited another
day. Now Robert began to draw in his belt, while a hunger that was
almost too fierce to be endured assailed him. His was a strong body,
demanding much nourishment, and it cried out to him for relief. He
tried to forget in sleep that he was famished, but he only dozed a
while to awaken to a hunger more poignant than ever.

Yet he said never a word, but, as the night with its illimitable hours
passed, he grew defiant of difficulties and dangers, all of which
became but little things in presence of his hunger. It was his impulse