Костёр

           Thisdarkhair-linewasthetrail—themaintrail—thatledsouthfivehundredmilestotheChilcootPass,Dyea,andsaltwater; andthatlednorthseventymilestoDawson,andstillontothenorthathousandmilestoNulato,andfinallytoSt.MichaelonBeringSea,athousandmilesandhalfathousandmore. 

           Butallthis—themysterious,far-reachinghairlinetrail,theabsenceofsunfromthesky,thetremendouscold,andthestrangenessandweirdnessofitall—madenoimpressionontheman. Itwasnotbecausehewaslongusedtoit. Hewasanew-comerintheland,achechaquo,andthiswashisfirstwinter. Thetroublewithhimwasthathewaswithoutimagination. Hewasquickandalertinthethingsoflife,butonlyinthethings,andnotinthesignificances. Fiftydegreesbelowzeromeanteightyodddegreesoffrost. Suchfactimpressedhimasbeingcoldanduncomfortable,andthatwasall. Itdidnotleadhimtomeditateuponhisfrailtyasacreatureoftemperature,anduponman’sfrailtyingeneral,ableonlytolivewithincertainnarrowlimitsofheatandcold;andfromthereonitdidnotleadhimtotheconjecturalfieldofimmortalityandman’splaceintheuniverse. Fiftydegreesbelowzerostoodforabiteoffrostthathurtandthatmustbeguardedagainstbytheuseofmittens,ear-flaps,warmmoccasins,andthicksocks. Fiftydegreesbelowzerowastohimjustpreciselyfiftydegreesbelowzero. Thatthereshouldbeanythingmoretoitthanthatwasathoughtthatneverenteredhishead. 

           Asheturnedtogoon,hespatspeculatively.