ckness. Fifty
feet below the road lay a broken, crushed piece of mechanism, its
wheels still spinning, the odor of gasoline heavy about it from the
broken tank, one light still gleaming, like a blazing eye, one light
that centered upon the huddled, crumpled figure of a man who groaned
once and strove vaguely, dizzily, to rise, only to sink at last into
unconsciousness. Barry Houston had lost his fight.

How long he remained there, Barry did not know. He remembered only the
falling, dizzy moment, the second or so of horrible, racking suspense,
when, breathless, unable to move, he watched the twisting rebound of
the machine from which he had been thrown and sought to evade it as it
settled, metal crunching against metal, for the last time. After that
had come agonized hours in which he knew neither wakefulness nor the
quiet of total unconsciousness. Then--

Vaguely, as from far away, he heard a voice,--the sort of a voice that
spelled softness and gentleness. Something touched his forehead and
stroked it, with the caress that only a woman's hand can give. He
moved slightly, with the knowledge that he lay no longer upon the rocky
roughness of a mountain side, but upon the softness of a bed. A pillow
was beneath his head. Warm blankets covered him. The hand again
lingered on his forehead and was drawn away. A moment more and slowly,
wearily, Barry Houston opened his eyes.

It was the room of a mountain cabin, with its skiis and snowshoes; with
its rough chinkings in the interstices of the logs which formed the
mainstay of the house, with its four-paned windows, with its
uncouthness, yet with its comfort. Barry noticed none of this. His
eyes had centered upon the form of a girl standing beside the little
window, where evidently she had gone from his bedside.

Fair-haired she was, though Barry did not notice it. Small of build
and slight, yet vibrant with the health and vigor that is typical of
those who live in the open places. And there was a piquant something
about her too; just enough of an upturned little nose to denote the
fact that there was spirit and independence in her being; dark blue
eyes that snapped even as darker eyes snapped, as she stood, half
turned, looking out the window, watching with evident eagerness the
approach of some one Barry could not see. The lips carried a
half-smile of anticipation. Barry felt the instinctive urge to call to
her, to raise himself--

He winced with a sudde