Several times he fell, and regaining his feet rushed madly and blindly about in vain hope of finding the lost trail and escaping the doom that seemed closing in upon him.  The snow clouds were like dense walls, and he, like a child, in puny effort wildly trying to batter them down to gain his freedom.

Finally exhaustion overtook him, and with it a degree of reason.  His legs were weak and quivering with their effort.  He began to realize that he had been depending upon them to extricate him from the trackless marsh in which he wandered, instead of using reason.  Limp and trembling as a result of the mad fear that had taken possession of him, and the tremendous physical exertion he had been putting forth, he stopped and with wild, still frightened eyes gazed at the walls of snow that surrounded him like an impassable barrier.

Then his brain began to function and his reason to return.  He knew that he must reach the cover of the forest, where the trees would shelter him from the blasts that swept the marsh.  There he would find some measure of protection at least, and in any case the forest lay between him and the cabin at Double Up Cove.

He recalled that time and again Toby had said to him, “Dad’s wonderful fine at gettin’ out o’ fixes, and he always does un by usin’ his head.”  And Skipper Zeb himself had said, “When a man gets into a fix ’tis mostly because he don’t use his head, and ’tis his head has to get he out of un.  His legs and his hands won’t help he, unless his head tells un what to do.”

That was logical and reasonable.  He was now in a “fix,” and a worse fix indeed than that in which he and Toby had found themselves on Swile Island.  Charley crouched with his back to the snow-laden blasts while he tried to gather his senses and his poise, and these thoughts flashing through his mind, gave him courage.  It was bitterly cold and he knew that he must soon find shelter or he would perish.  In his mad panic, he had not only lost knowledge of direction, but had expended much of his strength.

Slowly it occurred to him that the wind blew across the marsh from the direction of the forest and toward the barrens, and was in his back when he followed the ptarmigans.  This being the case, he reasoned, he must face the wind to regain the forest.

He was somewhere in the marsh.  He knew that.  The forest must lie up the wind.  It was suffocating and paralyzing work to face it, but in that direction alone lay the only chance for escape and safety.  His very life depended upon reaching the forest, and reaching it soon, and he turned boldly to it.

With renewed courage, he fought his way forward step by step.  He would walk but a little way, when dense snow clouds would force him to turn his back upon them to regain his breath.  But he kept going, now and again stumbling and falling and then getting to his feet again to stumble on a little farther.  The distance seemed interminable, and several times he was on the point of giving up the struggle in despair.

Then it was that he collided with a tree.  An outpost of the forest!  His heart leaped with hope.  With renewed vigour he plunged forward into wind and snow cloud, and a moment later was under the blessed shelter of the trees.

The wind raged through the tree tops, but the thick growth of the spruce forest protected him.  He did not know where he was, and could see no familiar thing.  Finally, too weary to go farther, he crawled under the low branches of a tree to rest.

Charley was dozing and half unconscious when a distant crash startled him into wakefulness.  What could it have been?  He listened intently.  Then it came again, and he sprang to his feet excitedly.  He had no doubt now.  It was the report of a rifle, and some one was within hearing.

Through all his struggle in the marsh, Charley had unconsciously clung to Toby’s shotgun.  He fired one barrel, and then the other.  An answering shot rang out above the roar of the wind, and not so far away now.  He ran in the direction from which it came.  Then came another shot, now quite near, and a moment later he saw Toby hurrying toward him.

Charley’s heart leaped with joy and relief.  How good Toby looked!  Dear Toby, who always seemed to be on hand when he was needed!

“You looks fair scragged!” greeted Toby.  “Were you gettin’ lost?”

“Lost-I was lost out on the barrens and the marsh!” and Charley was scarce able to choke back tears of joy and relief.

Toby after the manner of woodsmen had brought his ax.  He quickly cut some wood, and in a few moments had a rousing fire.  Then he cut some poles, and made a lean-to, which he thatched thickly with boughs, and within it made a couch of boughs where they could sit before the fire protected from the storm.

While Toby prepared and broiled two of the ptarmigans, Charley told the story of his experiences.

“I was scared stiff,” said Charley in closing.  “If I had done as you told me to do, and gone straight home when the snow began it wouldn’t have happened.  But I didn’t know a storm could come up like that, or how bad it could get in a few minutes.”

“You were usin’ your head when you goes up the wind, and that gets you out of a wonderful bad fix,” said Toby.  “Dad says the only way to get out of fixes is to use your head, and he knows.”

There was never a word of reproach from Toby for not having heeded his advice, and for this Charley was grateful.