midday
If Dick , flipping his mitten from his hand to light his pipe , did not catch the fire at the second tug , he had to resume the mitten and beat the circulation into his hand before renewing the attempt , lest the ends of his fingers become frosted . Movement , always and incessantly , movement alone could keep going the vital forces on these few coldest days until the fire had been built to fight back the white death . It was the land of ghosts . Except for the few hours at midday these people moved in the gloom and shadow of a nether world . The long twilight was succeeded by longer night , with its burnished stars , its dead moon , its unearthly aurora . On the fresh snow were the tracks of creatures , but in the flesh they glided almost invisible . The ptarmigan 's bead eye alone betrayed him , he had no outline .