The man pulled on his glove and beat his hand against his leg again. Then he took the gloves off both hands and picked up all the matches together. Holding them with both hands, he scratched the matches along his leg. They caught fire at once. He held the blazing matches to a piece of wood. After a while, he could smell his hands burning. Then he began to feel the pain. He opened his hands, and the matches fell onto the snow. The flame went out in a puff of gray smoke. The man looked up. The dog was still watching him. The man got an idea. He would kill the dog and bury his hands inside its warm body. When feeling came back to his fingers, he could build another fire. He called to the dog. The dog heard danger in his voice. It backed away. The man called again. This time the dog came closer. The man reached for his knife. But he had forgotten that he could not bend his fingers. He could not kill the dog, because he could not hold his knife. The fear of death came over the man. He jumped up and began to run. He fell several times. He decided to rest a while. As he lay in the snow, he noticed that he was not shaking. He could not feel his nose or fingers or feet. Yet he felt warm and comfortable. He understood he was going to die. Well, he decided, he might as well take it like a man. He closed his eyes and floated into a deep sleep. The dog sat facing him, waiting. Finally, it moved closer and caught the smell of death. The animal threw back its head. It let out a long, soft cry to the cold stars in the black sky. Then it turned and ran toward Henderson Creek, where it knew there was food and a fire.