actly six paces long and three wide, and just
high enough to permit Anson to walk erect in the highest part.

"Nice fix to leave a man in, ain't it? All alone here, an' a blizzard
comin' on! If I ever git out o' this country alive, I'll bet I'll know
enough not to come back," he broke out, stamping his foot in a rage. "I
don't see what he means by it. If he's caught in that blow, his life
ain't worth a cent."

CHAPTER II.

HER FIRST TRIP IN A BLIZZARD.

At half-past two the feelings of the silent watcher began to change. He
thought more about his partner out there in the rising wind and
thickening snow. The blast roared round the little cabin with a deep,
menacing, rising moan, and laid to the stove-pipe a resounding lip,
wailing and shouting weirdly. Bert's nervous walk quickened, and he
looked so often through the pane that the frost had not time to close
up.

Suddenly, out of the blinding, sweeping snow, not ten rods distant, the
burly form of Anson burst, head down, blindly staggering forward into
the teeth of the tempest. He walked like a man whose strength was
almost gone, and he carried a large bundle in his arms.

Gearhart flung the door open, and called in a cheery voice to guide the
struggling man to the house. He knew what it was to face such a wind.

"Here ye are, ol' man! Right this way! Keep y'r head down!"

Then, seeing that Anson hardly made headway against the terrible blast,
he rushed out, bare-headed as he was, and caught and hurried him in and
shut the door.

Reeling blindly, his breath roaring like a furnace, his eyebrows hung
with icicles, his face masked with crusted snow, Anson staggered in,
crying hoarsely, "Take her!" then slid to the floor, where he lay
panting for breath.

Bert caught the bundle from his arms. A wailing, half-smothered cry
came from it.

"What is it, Ans?" he asked.

"A kid; warm it," said the giant, trying with his numbed fingers to
undo the shawl which wrapped the bundle. Bert hurriedly unwound the
shawl, and a frightened child, blue-eyed and flaxen-haired--flossy as
unfrosted corn-silk--was disclosed like a nubbin of corn after the
husks are stripped off.

"Why, it's little Flaxen Hair! Wha' d'ye bring her over for?"

"'Sh!" said Anson hoarsely. "Mind how y' git her warm! Don't y' see
she's froze?"

The little creature was about five, or possibly six years old, scantily
clad, but neat and pretty. As her feet began to get warm before the
fire, s