Dolly West's mother still sat by the kitchen fire. It was long past
midnight now.

Once more Bad-Weather Tom tiptoed in from the frosty night. "Is she
sleepin' still?" he whispered.

"Hush! She've jus' toppled off again. She's havin' a deal o' pain,
Tom. An' she've been bleedin' again."

"Put her down on the bed, dear."

The woman shook her head. "I'm afeared 'twould start the wounds, Tom.
Any sign of un yet, Tom?"

"Not yet."

"He'll come soon."

"No; 'tis not near time. 'Twill be dawn afore he----"

"Soon, Tom."

"He'll be delayed by snow. The moon's near gone. 'Twill be black dark
in half an hour. I felt a flake o' snow as I come in. An' he'll maybe
wait at Mad Harry----"

"He's comin' by the Bight, Tom."

Dolly stirred, cried out, awakened with a start, and lifted her
bandaged head a little. She did not open her eyes. "Is that you,
doctor, sir?"

"Hush!" the mother whispered. "'Tis not the doctor yet."

"When----"

"He's comin'."

"I'll take a look," said Tom. He went out again and stumbled down the
path to Blow-me-Down Dick by Tickle-my-Ribs.

Doctor Rolfe lay still and expectant in the pool of water near the pan
ice and rocks of the Little Spotted Horse. He waited. Nothing
happened. Presently he ventured delicately to take off a mitten, to
extend his hand, to sink his fingernails in the ice and try to draw
himself forward. It was a failure. His fingernails were too short. He
could merely scratch the ice. He reflected that if he did not
concentrate his weight--that if he kept it distributed--he would not
break through. And once more he tried to make use of his fingernails.
It turned out that the nails of the other hand were longer. Doctor
Rolfe managed to gain half an inch before they slipped. They slipped
again--and again and again. It was hopeless. Doctor Rolfe lay still,
pondering.

Presently he shot his gaff toward the pan ice, to be rid of the
incumbrance of it, and lifted himself on his palms and toes. By this
the distribution of his weight was not greatly disturbed. It was not
concentrated upon one point. It was divided by four and laid upon four
points. And there were no fearsome consequences. It was a hopeful
experiment.

Doctor Rolfe stepped by inches on his hands toward the pan
ice--dragging his toes. In this way he came to the line of solid ice
under the cliffs of the Little Spotted Horse and had a clear path
forward. Whereupon he picked up his gaff, and set out for the point