I looked anxiously about, hoping to discover some trees or shrubs which might afford us shelter and enable us to light a fire, but a thick veil of falling snow shrouded us on every side.  I consulted Red Squirrel as to what we should do.  One thing was certain--that if we remained in the open, exposed to the biting blast, we should perish.  I feared that such would be our fate.  Poor Hugh gave way altogether, and, casting off the straps from his ankles, threw himself down on the snow, and begged us to leave him.