erself across the bunk, gasping and choking for breath. Her
body would not have yielded to the suffering yet, so strongly made and
sustained was it; but her dismay stifled her. She saw in one horrified
moment the frozen forms of her babies, now so pink and pleasant to the
sense; and oblivion came to save her from further misery.

She was alive--just barely alive--when Gillispie and Henderson got
there, three hours later, the very balls of their eyes almost frozen
into blindness. But for an instinct stronger than reason they would
never have been able to have found their way across that trackless
stretch. The children lying unconscious under their coverings were
neither dead nor actually frozen, although the men putting their hands
on their little hearts could not at first discover the beating. Stiff
and suffering as these young fellows were, it was no easy matter to get
the window back into place and re-light the fire. They had tied flasks
of liquor about their waists; and this beneficent fluid they used with
that sense of appreciation which only a pioneer can feel toward
whiskey. It was hours before Catherine rewarded them with a gleam
of consciousness. Her body had been frozen in many places. Her arms,
outstretched over her children and holding the clothes down about
them, were rigid. But consciousness came at length, dimly struggling up
through her brain; and over her she saw her friends rubbing and rubbing
those strong firm arms of hers with snow.

She half raised her head, with a horror of comprehension in her eyes,
and listened. A cry answered her,--a cry of dull pain from the baby.
Henderson dropped on his knees beside her.

"They are all safe," he said. "And we will never leave you again. I have
been afraid to tell you how I love you. I thought I might offend you. I
thought I ought to wait--you know why. But I will never let you run the
risks of this awful life alone again. You must rename the baby. From
this day his name is John. And we will have the three Johns again
back at the old ranch. It doesn't matter whether you love me or not,
Catherine, I am going to take care of you just the same. Gillispie
agrees with me."

"Damme, yes," muttered Gillispie, feeling of his hip-pocket for
consolation in his old manner.

Catherine struggled to find her voice, but it would not come.

"Do not speak," whispered John. "Tell me with your eyes whether you will
come as my wife or only as our sister."

Catherine told h