He was about to run the raft ashore, when to his great delight it
suddenly shot forth from its forest prison into the open expanse of a
broad and silent lake. Reynolds staggered painfully to his feet and
looked around. He could only see a short distance, as a heavy mist lay
over the water. His eyes scanned the shore, but no sign of human
habitation could he behold. There was nothing except the same scene of
desolation which had been his companion for weary days.

The raft was motionless now, some distance out upon the lake. Slowly
Reynolds forced it to the shore, and secured it in a little cove.

"I might as well stay here for the night," he muttered. "It may be
clear to-morrow which will enable me to see farther. Oh, for something
to eat!"

With much difficulty he started a fire, for the wood was wet, and then
warmed himself before the cheerful blaze. It was not raining so hard
now, for which he was thankful. He tried to dry his rags of clothes by
hanging them on sticks near the fire. His boots were off his feet,
with the uppers alone clinging to his ankles. Removing these, he
examined them. Then an idea flashed into his mind. He had heard of
men eating their boots in their extremity, and why should not he! It
was worth the try, at any rate.

It took him but a second to whip out his knife and cut a piece from the
top of one of the boots. This he washed clean in the lake, and tasted
it. Only one on the extreme verge of starvation can in any manner
comprehend what even a portion of a boot means. There is some
nourishment there, as Reynolds soon found. Almost ravenously he chewed