ation, his inner garments were steaming, his outer ones were
frozen into a coat of armor; when he paused he chilled rapidly. His
vision was untrustworthy, also, and he felt snow blindness coming on.
Grant begged him more than once to unroll the bedding and prepare to
sleep out the storm; he even urged Johnny to leave him and make a dash
for his own safety, but at this the younger man cursed and told him to
hold his tongue.

Night found the lone driver slipping, plunging, lurching ahead of the
dogs, or shoving at the handle-bars and shouting at the dogs. Finally,
during a pause for rest he heard a sound which roused him. Out of the
gloom to the right came the faint complaining howl of a malemute; it was
answered by his own dogs, and the next moment they had caught a scent
which swerved them shoreward and led them scrambling through the drifts.
Two hundred yards, and a steep bank loomed above, up and over which they
rushed, with Cantwell yelling encouragement; then a light showed, and
they were in the lee of a low-roofed hut.

A sick native, huddled over a Yukon stove, made them welcome to his mean
abode, explaining that his wife and son had gone to Unalaklik for
supplies.

Johnny carried his partner to the one unoccupied bunk and stripped his
clothes from him. With his own hands he rubbed the warmth back into
Mortimer's limbs, then swiftly prepared hot food, and, holding him in
the hollow of his aching arm, fed him, a little at a time. He was like
to drop from exhaustion, but he made no complaint. With one folded robe
he made the hard boards comfortable, then spread the other as a
covering. For himself he sat beside the fire and fought his weariness.
When he dozed off and the cold awakened him, he renewed the fire; he
heated beef tea, and, rousing Mort, fed it to him with a teaspoon. All
night long, at intervals, he tended the sick man, and Grant's eyes
followed him with an expression that brought a fierce pain to Cantwell's
throat.

"You're mighty good--after the rotten way I acted," the former whispered
once.

And Johnny's big hand trembled so that he spilled the broth.

His voice was low and tender as he inquired, "Are you resting easier
now?"

The other nodded.

"Maybe you're not hurt badly, after--all. God! That would be awful----"
Cantwell choked, turned away, and, raising his arms against the log
wall, buried his face in them.

* * * * *

The morning broke clear; Grant