ith words of
encouragement and good cheer.

"Not far now," he would promise. "Across a little bog and then camp.
Keep coming."

Once he found her sitting on the snow, her back to a tree.

"You'd better go on alone. I'm done," she told him drearily.

He was not angry at her. Nor did he bully or browbeat.

"Tough sledding," he said gently. "But we're 'most there. Got to keep
going. Can't quit now."

He helped Jessie to her feet and led the way down into a spongy
morass. The brush slapped her face. It caught in the meshes of her
shoes and flung her down. The miry earth, oozing over the edges of the
frames, clogged her feet and clung to them like pitch.

Whaley did his best to help, but when at last she crept up to the
higher ground beyond the bog every muscle ached with fatigue.

They were almost upon it before she saw a log cabin looming out of the
darkness.

She sank on the floor exhausted. Whaley disappeared into the storm
again. Sleepily she wondered where he was going. She must have dozed,
for when her eyes next reported to the brain, there was a brisk fire
of birch bark burning and her companion was dragging broken bits of
dead and down timber into the house.

"Looks like she's getting her back up for a blizzard. Better have
plenty of fuel in," he explained.

"Where are we?" she asked drowsily.

"Cabin on Bull Creek," he answered. "Better get off your footwear."

While she did this her mind woke to activity. Why had he brought her
here? They had no food. How would they live if a blizzard blew up and
snowed them in? And even if they had supplies, how could she live
alone for days with this man in a cabin eight by ten?

As though he guessed what was in her mind, he answered plausibly
enough one of the questions.

"No chance to reach Faraway. Too stormy. It was neck or nothing. Had
to take what we could get."

"What'll we do if--if there's a blizzard?" she asked timidly.

"Sit tight."

"Without food?"

"If it lasts too long, I'll have to wait for a lull and make a try for
Faraway. No use worrying. We can't help what's coming. Got to face the
music."

Her eyes swept the empty cabin. No bed. No table. One home-made
three-legged stool. A battered kettle. It was an uninviting prospect,
even if she had not had to face possible starvation while she was
caged with a stranger who might any minute develop wolfish hunger for
her as he had done only forty-eight hours before.

He did not look at her ste