s roused by a sharp prick and
a feeling that something grated in his side. He knew what had
happened: one, or perhaps two, of his ribs had broken and an incautious
movement had driven the broken end into the flesh.

The mechanical injury, however, was the worst, since Jim was too hard
to collapse from shock, and he lay quiet, trying to think. One could
walk in spite of a broken rib; Jim had known badly injured men walk two
or three hundred miles to reach a doctor, but the blizzard would try
his strength. It was a long way to the shack and farther to the next
post, but on the whole he thought it prudent to make for the latter.
The linesman, finding the line broken, would set out to look for the
break, and when Jim met him his help would be useful. In fact, it
might be necessary.

He felt a sharper prick as he got up, but he followed the posts down
the gulch and toiled up the other side. His breathing was labored and
painful as he climbed the rugged slope. At the top the ground was
roughly level and the tossing pines gave some shelter from the wind.
Jim coughed now and then and thought there was a salt taste in his
mouth. This looked ominous and the stabs caused by his jolting
movements hurt, but he would not think about it. It was pain, not
blood, that gave him the salt taste. He had done his job and begun a
harder fight. The claim of duty had been met and now he was fighting
for his life.

The pines roared as he struggled on and at times a blinding haze of
snow filled the gap. He had thrown away his tools, but his coat was
getting heavy. Now and then he tried to brush off the snow and wiped
his lips. The salt taste was plainer; but he was not going to admit he
knew what it meant and was glad he could not see his mittens when he
took them from his mouth. Speed was important and he labored on. He
could not remember afterwards how long he stumbled forward, but at
length he stopped and stood swaying dizzily when an indistinct object
loomed through the snow. It was like a man and came towards him.

"Hallo! Why, Pete----" he gasped and with an effort reached and leaned
against a pine.

The other stopped. "It's Pete, all right: but what d'you allow you're
doing on my piece of the section?"

"Reckoned I might meet you coming along," Jim replied, leaning hard
against the tree. "You can take the back trail. The line's fixed."

"That's good. But why are you heading this way? I don't get you yet."

"