his nerves. In
a moment more they would be flung again into the cascades.

"I'm afraid I can't make it," he said, too softly for Virginia to hear.
He wrenched once more toward the shore.

But the river gods were merciful, after all. A jack pine had fallen on
the shore, struck down by a dead tree that had fallen beyond, and its
green spire, still clothed with needles, lay half-submerged, forty feet
out into the stream. Bill's arm encountered it, then snatched at it in
a final, spasmodic impulse of his muscles. And his grip held fast.

For an instant they were tossed like straws in the water, but gradually
he strengthened his grip. He caught a branch with his free hand, then
slowly pulled up on it. "Hang on," he breathed. "Only a moment more."

He drew himself and the girl up on the slender trunk, then crawled along
it toward the shore. Now they were half out of the water. And in a
moment later they both felt the river bottom against their knees.

He drew her to the bank, staggered and fell, and for a moment both of
them lay lifeless to the soft caress of the snow. But Bill did not dare
lose consciousness. He was fully aware that the fight was only half
won. And despair swept the girl when her clear thought returned to tell
her they had emerged upon the opposite shore from the party, and that
they were drenched through and lost in the night and storm,--endless,
weary paces from warmth and shelter.

Before the thought had gone fully home she saw that Bill was on his
feet. The twilight had all but yielded to the darkness, yet she saw
that he still stood straight and strong. It was not that he had already
recovered from the desperate battle in the river. Strong as he was, for
himself he had only one desire--to lie still and rest and let the
terrible cold take its toll. But he was the guide, the forester, and
the girl's life was in his care.

"Get off your clothes," he commanded. "All of them--the darkness
hides you--and I'll wring 'em out. If I don't you can't live to get
to the cabin. Your stockings first."

The thought of disobedience did not even come to her. He was fighting
for her life; no other issue remained.

"Rub your skin all over with your hands," he went on, "and keep moving.
Above all things keep the blood going in your veins. Rub as hard as you
can--I can't make a fire here--with no ax--in the snow."

Already she had tossed him her drenched stockings, and he was wringing
them in