et off in great speed across the snow, pushed on
by an indescribable horror.

As he neared home, his fresh young blood asserted itself more and more;
but when he entered the cabin he was still trembling, and dropped into
a chair like a man out of breath. At sight of the ruddy face of Anson,
and with the aid of the heat and light of the familiar little room, he
shook off part of his horror.

"Gi' me a cup o' coffee, Ans. I'm kind o' chilly an' tired."

Before drinking he wiped his face and washed his hands again and again
at the basin in the corner, as though there were something on them
which was ineffably unclean. The little one, who had been weeping
again, stared at him with two big tears drying on her hollow cheeks.

"Well?" interrogated Anson.

"I nailed her up safe enough for the present. But what're we goin' to
do next?"

"I can't see 's we can do anythin' as long as such weather as this
lasts. It ain't safe f'r one of us to go out an' leave the other alone.
Besides, it's thirty below zero, an' no road, Moccasin's full of snow;
an' another wind likely to rise at any time. It's mighty tough on this
little one, but it can't be helped. As soon as it moderates a little,
we'll try to find a woman an' a preacher, an' bury that--relative."

"The only woman I know of is ol' Mrs. Cap Burdon, down on the Third
Moccasin, full fifteen miles away."

CHAPTER IV.

FLAXEN ADOPTS ANSON AS "PAP."

For nearly two weeks they waited, while the wind alternately raved and
whispered over them as it scurried the snow south or east, or shifted
to the south in the night, bringing "the north end of a south wind,"
the most intolerable and cutting of winds. Day after day the restless
snow sifted or leaped across the waste of glittering crust; day after
day the sun shone in dazzling splendor, but so white and cold that the
thermometer still kept down among the thirties. They were absolutely
alone on the plain, except that now and then a desperate wolf or
inquisitive owl came by.

These were long days for the settlers. They would have been longer had
it not been for little Elga, or "Flaxen," as they took to calling her.
They racked their brains to amuse her, and in the intervals of tending
the cattle and of cooking, or of washing dishes, rummaged through all
their books and pictures, taught her "cat's cradle," played
"jack-straws" with her, and with all their resources of song and
pantomime strove to fill up the little one'