He walked over to some small trees. They were covered with snow. In their branches were pieces of dry grass and wood left by floodwater earlier in the year. He put several large pieces of wood on the snow under one of the trees. On top of the wood he put grass and dry branches. He pulled off his gloves, took out his matches, and lit the fire. He fed the young flame with more wood. As the fire grew stronger, he gave it larger pieces. He worked slowly and carefully. At sixty degrees below zero, a man with wet feet must not fail at his first fire. While he was walking, his blood had kept his body warm. Now that he had stopped, the cold was forcing his blood deeper inside. His wet feet had frozen. He could not feel his fingers. His nose was frozen too. The skin all over his body felt cold. But the fire was burning more strongly now. He was safe. He sat under the tree and thought of the old men in Fairbanks. The old men had told him that no man should travel alone in the Yukon at sixty below. Yet here he was. He had had an accident. He was alone. And he had saved himself.