m awful sorry it came out this way, Dan."

McGill shivered and drew his head down between his gaunt shoulders.
"Talk to me, will you?" he begged. "I'm hit hard."

His friend did as he was directed, but a few minutes later in the midst
of his words the big man interrupted:

"There wasn't room for all of us here," he declared, fiercely. "I told
her that, but she wanted him worse than her own life, so I had to give
in."

They were still talking at midnight, after all but a few loiterers had
gone home, when they heard a man's voice calling from outside. An
instant later the front door burst open and a figure appeared; it was
Cochrane, the trader from down-river.

"Here! Give me a hand!" he bellowed through his ice-burdened beard, then
plunged back into the hurricane to reappear with a woman in his arms.

"I thought I'd never make it," he declared. "There's a man in the sled,
too. Get some 'hootch' and send for a doctor, quick."

McGill uttered a cry, while the hand with which he gripped the bar went
white at his pressure. "Where did you get them?" he questioned.

"Ten miles below," said Cochrane. "I was camped for the night when their
dogs picked up my scent. They were half dead when they got to me, and he
was in mighty bad shape, so I came through. I've been five hours on the
road."

Two men brought in Barclay, at which McGill flung out a long arm and
cried in a loud voice, "Is that man dead?"

No one answered, so he strode forward, only to have the weakened
traveler raise his head and say:

"No, I'm not dead, McGill. But we had to come back."

The wife was calling to her husband, wretchedly: "Don't do it, Dan. We
couldn't help it. We'll go to-morrow. We'll go. Please don't! We'll go."

The onlookers, knowing something of the tragedy, drew back, watching
McGill, who still stared into the face of the man who had robbed him of
everything.

"Do you remember what I told you?" he questioned, inflexibly.

Barclay nodded, and the woman shrilled again:

"Don't let him do it, men. _Don't!_"

"There ain't room for us here," went on McGill.

"Only to-night," supplicated his wife, the frost-bitten spots in her
cheeks no more pallid than the rest of her countenance. "He _can't_ go.
Don't you see he isn't able? Wait, Dan; I'll go if you want me to"--she
struggled forward. "I'll go, but he'll die if you send him out."

"It's always him, ain't it?" said the miner, slowly. "You seem to want
him pretty bad, Alice. Wel