limbs and knuckling his hair. The man proved to
be in a maze of wonderment over his patient's tenacity of life.

"I watched ye," he murmured soothingly, "I did not dare interfere. But
I kem to yo' 's soon as I could. See, here's a fire that I built for ye,
and some tea. Take a little. And no bones broke! True for ye, ye're a
hearty man, and strong with th' big muscles on ye fit to fight th' Rough
Red man to man. Get th' use of yere legs, darlint, an' I'll tak' ye to
camp, for its fair drunk they are by now. Sure an' I tole ye they'd kill
ye!"

"But they didn't," muttered FitzPatrick with a gleam of humour.

"Sure 'twas not their fault--nor yer own!"

Hours later, as it seemed, they moved slowly in the direction of camp.
The cold had stiffened FitzPatrick's cuts and bruises. Every step shot a
red wave of torture through his arteries to his brain. They came in
sight of camp. It was silent. Both knew that the men had drunk
themselves into a stupor.

"I'd like t' kill th' whole lay-out as she sleeps," snarled the cook,
shaking his fist.

"So would I," replied FitzPatrick.

Then as they looked, a thin wreath of smoke curled from under the open
doorway and spread lazily in the frosty air. Another followed; another;
still another. The cabin was afire.

"They've kicked over th' stove again," said FitzPatrick, seating
himself on a stump. His eyes blazed with wrath and bitterness.

"What yo' goin' to do?" asked the cook.

"Sit here," replied FitzPatrick, grimly.

The cook started forward.

"Stop!" shouted the scaler, fiercely; "if you move a step, I'll break
your back!"

The cook stared at him through saucer eyes.

"But they'd be burnt alive!" he objected, wildly.

"They ought to be," snarled the scaler; "it ain't their fault I'm here
to help them. 'Tis their own deed that I'm now lyin' beyant there in th'
forest, unable to help myself. Do you understand? I'm yet out there in
th' woods!"

"Ah, wirra, wirra!" wailed the cook, wringing his hands. "Th' poor
lads!" He began to weep.

FitzPatrick stared straight in front of him for a moment. Then he struck
his forehead, and with wonderful agility, considering the injuries he
had but just received, tore down the hill in the direction of the
smouldering cabin. The cook followed him joyfully. Together they put out
the fire. The men snored like beasts, undisturbed by all the tumult.

"'Tis th' soft heart ye have after all, Fitz," said the cook,
delightedly, as the