Those old men were weak, he thought. A real man could travel alone. If a man stayed calm, he would be all right. His boots were covered with ice. The strings on his boots were as hard as steel. He would have to cut them with his knife. He leaned back against the tree to take out his knife. Suddenly, without warning, a heavy mass of snow dropped down. His movement had shaken the young tree only a little. But it was enough to cause the branches to drop their heavy load. The man was shocked. He sat and looked at the place where the fire had been. The old men had been right, he thought. If he had another man with him, he would not be in danger now. The other man could build the fire. Well, it was up to him to build it again. This time he must not fail. He collected more wood. He reached into his pocket for the matches. But his fingers were frozen. He could not hold them. He began to hit his hands against his legs with all his force. After a while, feeling came back to his fingers. He reached again into his pocket. But the cold quickly drove the life out of his fingers. All the matches fell onto the snow. He tried to pick one up, but failed.