and the water emptied out.

Then I looked for wood to build a fire, for I knew that unless we
could get artificial heat immediately we would perish with the cold,
for the very blood in our veins was freezing. Not a stick was there
nearer than an eighth of a mile across the bay. Our paddles were
gone, but we got into the canoe and used our hands for paddles. By
the time we landed Easton had grown very pale. He began picking and
clutching aimlessly at the trees. The blood had congealed in my hands
until they were so stiff as to be almost useless. I could not guide
them to the trousers pocket at first where I kept my waterproof match-
box. Finally I loosened my belt and found the matches, and with the
greatest difficulty managed to get one between my benumbed fingers,
and scratched it on the bottom of the box. The box was wet and the
match head flew off. Everything was wet. Not a dry stone even stuck
above the snow. I tried another match on the box, but, like the
first, the head flew off, and then another and another with the same
result. Under ordinary circumstances I could have secured a light
somehow and quickly, but now my hands and fingers were stiff as sticks
and refused to grip the matches firmly. I worked with desperation,
but it seemed hopeless. Easton's face by this time had taken on the
waxen shade that comes with death, and he appeared to be looking
through a haze. His senses were leaving him. I saw something must be
done at once, and I shouted to him: "Run! run! Easton, run!"
Articulation was difficult, and I did not know my own voice. It
seemed very strange and far away to me. We tried to run but had lost
control of our legs and both fell down. With an effort I regained my
feet but fell again when I tried to go forward. My legs refused to
carry me. I crawled on my hands and knees in the snow for a short
distance, and it was all I could do to recover my feet. Easton had