's camp," said Kalman, pausing for breath while Marjorie held
him up. "We're just there."

And so, staggering and stumbling, they reached the foot of the
landslip. Here Kalman took the saddle off Jacob, turned him loose,
and clambered up to the cave, followed by the others. Mr. Penny
sank to the ground and lay upon the cave floor like one dead.

"Well, here we are at last," said Kalman, "thank God!"

"Yes, thank God!" said Marjorie softly, "and--you, Kalman."

She sank to her knees on the ground, and putting her face in her
hands, burst into tears.

"What is it, Marjorie?" said Kalman, taking her hands down from her
face. "Are you hurt? What is it? I can't bear to see you cry like
that." But he didn't kiss her. The conventionalities were seizing
upon him again. His old shyness was stealing over his spirit. "Tell
me what to do," he said.

"Do!" cried Marjorie through her sobs. "What more can you do? Oh,
Kalman, you have saved me from an awful death!"

"Don't speak of it," said the boy with a shudder. "Don't I know it?
I can't bear to think of it. But are you all right?"

"Right?" said Marjorie briskly, wiping away her tears. "Of course
I'm all right, an' sair hungry, tae."

"Why, of course. What a fool I am!" said Kalman. "I'll make you tea
in a minute."

"No, let me," cried Marjorie. "Your poor foot must be awful.
Where's your teapot? I'm a gran' tea maker, ye ken." She was in
one of her daft moods, as Aunt Janet would say.

Never was such tea as that which they had from the tin tea pail and
from the one tin cup. What though the blizzard howled its loudest
in front of their cave? What though the swirling snow threatened
now and then to douse their fire? What though the tea boiled over
and the pork burned to a crisp? What though a single bannock stood
alone between them and starvation? What cared they? Heaven was
about them, and its music was ringing in their hearts.

Refreshed by their tea, they sat before the blazing fire, all
three, drying their soaked garments, while Mr. Penny and Marjorie
recounted their experiences. They had intended to make Wakota, but
missed the trail. The day was fine, however, and that gave them no
concern till the storm came up, when suddenly they had lost all
sense of direction and allowed their ponies to take them where they
would. With the instinct bred on the plains, the ponies had made
for the shelter of the Night Hawk ravine. Up the ravine they had
struggled till the dark