ut a sufficiency to purchase stores at
the town on the Yukon.

Abel's first act was to stoop down, mend the fire, and pat the dog,
which responded by rapping the earth with his tail. Then the leather
bag was tied up, replaced in the bank hole, which was then filled up,
the earth beaten down flat, and the sacks and skins which formed the bed
drawn back into their places.

He stooped down and patted the dog.

"Pah! Why don't you lie farther from the fire? You make the hut smell
horribly with your burnt hair."

The dog only whined, opened one eye, blinked at him, and went off to
sleep again.

"Poor old chap!" mused Abel. "I didn't think I could care so much for
such a great, rough, ugly brute as you are; but adversity makes strange
friends."

Abel finished that day wondering how Dallas was getting on, and trying
to picture his journey through the snow by the side of the ice-bound
stream; grew more melancholy from his lonely position, and then tried to
rouse himself by being practical and planning.

He made up his mind to content himself with one good, hearty meal a day,
so as to make the provisions last out well, in case Dallas should not be
back to time, and only to be extravagant with the fuel.

Lastly, he went to the door and looked out, to find that it was a clear,
frosty night, with the brilliant stars peering down.

He knew it was night, for no fires were to be seen in any direction,
and, after making all as snug as he could, he rolled himself in his
blankets, drew the skin bag up about him, and followed his dumb
companion's example, sleeping till morning, when the logs were just
smouldering and had to be coaxed into a good warm blaze again.

And so the days and nights glided by. He would awake again to find the
fire burning low, the dog still sleeping, and the horror of another
dreary day to pass. For his foot seemed no better, his spirits were
lower than ever, and at last it was long past the time when Dallas
should have returned.

How the days passed then he never afterwards could quite recall, for it
was like a continuous nightmare. But in a mechanical way he kept up the
fire, with the wood piled in one corner by the door getting so low that
he knew he must bestir himself soon, and get to the stack by the shaft,
knock and brush off the snow, and bring in more to thaw in the warmth of
the hut.

All in a strange, dreamy way he sat and watched, cooked a large pot of
skilly, and shared it with