Distinctly Montana Magazine

D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA N A • W I N T E R 2 0 1 7 18 FIRE Why brave icy roads when you can hop on an easy Cape Air flight? Save time, save money, and get there a whole lot faster. $ 49 * each way from *Including all taxes and fees. Fares are subject to availability and other conditions. Fares may change without notice, and are not guaranteed until ticketed. capeair.com 800-CAPE-AIR Havre Glasgow Wolf Point Sidney Glendive Billings Soar through winter. whence this cold came…But the man whistled, and spoke to it with the sound of whip lashes, and the dog swung in at the man's heels and followed after. And then it happened. At a place where there were no signs, where the soft, un- broken snow seemed to advertise solidity beneath, the man broke through. It was not deep. He wet himself halfway to the knees before he floundered out to the firm crust. He was angry, and cursed his luck aloud. He had hoped to get into camp with the boys at six o'clock, and this would delay him an hour, for he would have to build a fire and dry out his footgear. He turned aside to the bank which he had just climbed. On top, tangled in the underbrush about the trunks of several small spruce trees, was a high-water deposit of dry firewood—sticks and twigs, principally, but also larger portions of seasoned branches and fine, dry, last year's grasses. He threw down several large pieces on top of the snow. is served for a foundation and prevented the young flame from drowning itself in the snow it otherwise would help. e flame he got by touching a match to a small shred of birch bark that he took from his pocket. is burned even more readily than paper. Placing it on the foundation, he fed the young flame with wisps of dry grass and with the tiniest dry twigs. He worked slowly and carefully, keenly aware of his danger. Gradually, as the flame grew stronger, he increased the size of the twigs with which he fed it… He knew there must be no failure…Already the sensation had gone out of his feet. To build the fire he had been forced to remove his mittens, and the fingers had quickly gone numb. His pace of four miles an hour had kept his heart pumping blood to the surface of his body and to all the extremities. But the instant he stopped, the action of the pump eased down… But he was safe…ere was the fire, snapping and crackling and promising life with every dancing flame. He started to untie his moccasins. ey were coated with ice; the thick German socks were like sheaths of iron half way to the knees; and the moc- casin strings were like rods of steel all twisted and knotted as by some conflagration. But before he could cut the strings, it happened. It was his own fault, or, rather, his mistake. He should not have built the fire under the spruce tree. He should have built it in the open…Each time he had pulled a twig he had communicated a slight agitation to the tree—an imperceptible agitation, so far as he was concerned, but an agitation sufficient to bring about the disaster. High up in the tree one bough cap- sized its load of snow. is fell on the boughs beneath, capsizing them. e process continued. It grew like an avalanche, and it descended without warning upon the man and the fire, and the fire was blotted out! Where it had burned was a mantle of fresh and disordered snow. e man was shocked... [Ed. Note: is classic story deserves to be read in its entirety.] THE SUN WAS TOO FAR SOUTH ON ITS WINTER JOURNEY TO CLEAR THE HORIZON...

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