The man pulled himself together and went on， afraid now in a new way. There were wolves. Now and again the wolves， in packs of two and three， crossed his path. They stayed clear of the man， for it was easier to hunt the caribou.
In the late afternoon he came upon the bones of a caribou calf. He sat on the moss and gathered the bones into a heap， and then he chewed them with his bare teeth， trying to get a mouthful of the raw meat. Then he pounded the bones between rocks， beating them into a pulp and swallowed it. In his haste he almost broke some of his fingers， yet he did not mind the hurt.
Then came frightful days of snow and rain. The will to live carried him on. It was the life in him， unwilling to die， that drove him on. By this time he had become numb to pain. Half alive， he walked， he stumbled， he crawled until he came to a river. His dull senses told him it was not the same river where he and Bill had left their canoe. He followed the course of the river downstream. He didn’t know where he was—it didn’t matter much anyway. But he still had the will to live， and he pushed on.
He awoke one morning， lying on his back on a rocky ledge. In a painful effort， he rolled over on his side. Below him he could see that the river flowed out to the sea. He was not excited about that fact， and then he saw something that he was sure was a trick of the mind. Maybe， after all， it was a dream—a ship lying at anchor. He closed his eyes and then opened them. The ship was still there. The man could not believe it.
Then the man heard a noise behind him—a half-choking gasp or cough. He could see nothing near at hand. Again came the strange noises， and outlined against the rocks twenty feet away was the gray head of a wolf. The animal had bloodshot eyes. It seemed sick. It was no longer able to hunt with the packs. It even feared its own kind， but now it stalked the man， waiting for him to die.
The man looked again toward the sea. He decided the ship was real. It was at least five miles away， but the man had the will to live. He no longer felt the hunger. His last blanket was gone， and he had lost the rifle.