gray.

"Try to think," he said.

"I can't," replied Ida, "I only want to sleep."

Her companion moved forward and quietly laid his hand on her arm as
though to urge her to rise.

"Don't you understand how it is? Your friends are up yonder in the
frost with nothing to eat. I have to take the Indians back for them."

"Then you must go on," the girl said faintly.

Weston shook his head.

"No," he declared, "not without you. That's out of the question. If
there were no other reason, we should have to come back here for you,
and I expect that in the daylight we shall find a shorter way up. It
will be noon anyway before we get there, and you wouldn't wish to keep
your friends waiting longer."

Ida rose with an effort, and clung heavily to his arm when they crept
downward again; but the light grew a little clearer as they proceeded,
and the sound of the river rang louder in their ears. Then, in the
gray of the morning, they staggered out upon the bank of the river.
Walking, half awake, Ida floundered among the boulders and through a
horrible maze of whitened driftwood cast up by the stream. Farther on
they fortunately found stretches of smooth sand, and they plodded over
these and through little pools, though she afterward fancied that
Weston carried her across some of the deeper ones.

The sun was high when they saw the two canoes drawn up on the bank,
and a few moments later Mrs. Kinnaird appeared among the firs. She ran
toward them, stumbling in a ludicrous fashion amidst the boulders, and
then stopped a few yards away and gazed at Ida. The girl could
scarcely stand from weariness, and her dress clung about her, wet with
the river-water and rent to tatters. There was fear in the little
lady's eyes.

"Where are they?" she asked.

Weston stepped forward limping, and his face was set and gray.

"Up yonder, and quite safe," he said. "Miss Kinnaird has hurt her
knee. Nothing serious, but it hurts her to walk. I came for the
Indians to help her down again."

He raised his hand restrainingly.

"There is no cause for alarm. Get Miss Stirling something to eat, and
leave the rest to me."

He turned away abruptly, and limped past them toward the camp. When
Mrs. Kinnaird and Ida reached it, he was hastily getting together
provisions, and the Indians were already hewing down two slender firs.
When they stood waiting, each with a stout fir pole on his shoulder,
he turned to the anxious lady, who seemed bent on going w