faintest crunch on the thin layer or 

 snow and the rattling of more snow as 

 it slid off my tent from a blow that had 

 been struck on the outside. 



I jumped to the door of the tent. It 

 was the cook. 



" Purty cold in there, ain't it? You'd 

 a good sight better come to the fire. 

 Ain't you got a slicker?" 



I put on a mackintosh and overshoes 

 and went to the fire. The weather was 

 now indulging in a big flake snow that 

 slid stealthily to the ground and disap- 

 peared into water on whatever obstacle it 

 found there. It found me. The cook 

 was cleaning knives the cooking 

 knives, the eating knives, and a full 

 set of hunting knives, long and short, 

 slim and broad, all sharp and efficacious. 



He handled them lovingly, rubbed 

 off some blood rust here and there, and 



