"I've seen better dog punchers than
Elliot, but he's got the world beat at routin' old-timers out of bed and
persuadin' them to kick in with him and buck a blizzard. Me, o' course,
I'm an old fool for comin'--"

The dark eyes of the girl were like stars in a frosty night. "Then
you're the kind of a fool I love, Mr. Holt. I think it was just fine of
you, and I'll never forget it as long as I live."

Mrs. Olson had cooked too long in lumber and mining camps not to know
something about bone-setting. Under her direction Gordon made splints
and helped her bandage the broken leg. Meanwhile Swiftwater Pete fed
his horses from the grain on the sled and Sheba cooked an appetizing
breakfast. The aroma of coffee and the smell of frying bacon stimulated
appetites that needed no tempting.

Holt, propped up by blankets, ate with the others. For a good many years
he had taken his luck as it came with philosophic endurance. Now he
wasted no time in mourning what could not be helped. He was lucky the
ice slide had not hit him in the head. A broken leg would mend.

While they ate, the party went into committee of the whole to decide
what was best to be done. Gordon noticed that in all the tentative
suggestions made by Holt and Swiftwater the comfort of Sheba was the
first thing in mind.

The girl, too, noticed it and smilingly protested, her soft hand lying
for the moment on the gnarled one of the old miner.

"It doesn't matter about me. We have to think of what will be best for
Mr. Holt, of how to get him to the proper care. My comfort can wait."

The plan at last decided upon was that Gordon should make a dash for
Smith's Crossing on snowshoes, where he was to arrange for a relief
party to come out for the injured man and Mrs. Olson. He was to return
at once without waiting for the rescuers. Next morning he and Sheba
would start with Holt's dog team for Kusiak.

Macdonald had taught Sheba how to use snowshoes and she had been an
apt pupil. From her suitcase she got out her moccasins and put them on.
She borrowed the snowshoes of Holt, wrapped herself in her parka, and
announced that she was going with Elliot part of the way.

Gordon thought her movements a miracle of supple lightness. Her lines
had the swelling roundness of vital youth, her eyes were alive with
the eagerness that time dulls in most faces. They spoke little as they
swept forward over the white snow-wastes. The spell of the great North
was over her. Its mystery