d found them burning with fever. He went for water, and was glad
to find it almost as cold as if flowing from ice. That water was the
only medicine he had, and he put faith in it. She did not want to drink,
but he made her swallow, and then he bathed her face and head and cooled
her wrists.

The day began with the heightening of the fever. Venters spent the time
reducing her temperature, cooling her hot cheeks and temples. He kept
close watch over her, and at the least indication of restlessness, that
he knew led to tossing and rolling of the body, he held her tightly, so
no violent move could reopen her wounds. Hour after hour she babbled and
laughed and cried and moaned in delirium; but whatever her secret was
she did not reveal it. Attended by something somber for Venters, the day
passed. At night in the cool winds the fever abated and she slept.

The second day was a repetition of the first. On the third he seemed to
see her wither and waste away before his eyes. That day he scarcely went
from her side for a moment, except to run for fresh, cool water; and he
did not eat. The fever broke on the fourth day and left her spent and
shrunken, a slip of a girl with life only in her eyes. They hung upon
Venters with a mute observance, and he found hope in that.

To rekindle the spark that had nearly flickered out, to nourish the
little life and vitality that remained in her, was Venters's problem.
But he had little resource other than the meat of the rabbits and quail;
and from these he made broths and soups as best he could, and fed her
with a spoon. It came to him that the human body, like the human soul,
was a strange thing and capable of recovering from terrible shocks. For
almost immediately she showed faint signs of gathering strength. There
was one more waiting day, in which he doubted, and spent long hours by
her side as she slept, and watched the gentle swell of her breast rise
and fall in breathing, and the wind stir the tangled chestnut curls. On
the next day he knew that she would live.

Upon realizing it he abruptly left the cave and sought his accustomed
seat against the trunk of a big spruce, where once more he let his
glance stray along the sloping terraces. She would live, and the somber
gloom lifted out of the valley, and he felt relief that was pain. Then
he roused to the call of action, to the many things he needed to do
in the way of making camp fixtures and utensils, to the necessity of
hunting foo