Needed was a metal cutter - a hacksaw or a pair of shears - that could sever the retaining strap. Once again he cursed the fact that there was no tool-kit.

Over again. The weakness and dizziness passed from him in a moment but in that space he seemed only to realize that he must get back-- over the wall. "I wouldn't have come-- but-- I-- I-- thought you were-- dead " he said. "They told me-- you were dead. I'm glad-- glad-- but I wouldn't have come--" She felt the weight of him for an instant on her arm. She knew the things that were in his face-- starvation pain the signs of ravage left behind by fever..
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And south as far as his eye could see it was unbroken white save for a dark hairline that curved and twisted from around the spruce-covered island to the south and that curved and twisted away into the north where it disappeared behind another spruce-covered island. This dark hairline was the trail---the main trail--that led south five hundred miles to the Chilcoot Pass Dyea and salt water; and that led north seventy miles to Dawson and still on to the north a thousand miles to Nulato and finally to St. Michael on Bearing Sea a thousand miles and half a thousand more. But all this---the mysterious far-reaching hairline trail the absence of sun from the sky the tremendous cold and the strangeness and weirdness of it all--made no impression on the man. It was not because he was long used to it. He was a newcomer in the land a "chechaquo" and this was his first winter. The trouble with him was that he was without imagination. He was quick.
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