snake. Both man and dog went supperless that
night--the man inside the cabin before a roaring fire; the dog outside
in the cheerless dark before a fast-closed door whither his master had
promptly consigned him.

Gradually as the days passed there came still another change in the
life at the cabin. Rathburn's step became slow, and his cheeks sunken.
Sometimes he did not leave home all day, but lay tossing from side to
side on his bunk in the corner. At such times, if the result of Stub's
hunt were eatable, the man would rouse himself enough to stir the fire
and get supper; and always, after such a day at home, Rathburn was
astir the next morning at dawn and off in feverish haste for a long
day's work to make up for the long day of idleness.

But there came a time when he could not do this--when each day found
him stretched prone on his bunk or moving feebly about the room. Then
came a night when Stub's bark at the door was unanswered. Again and
again Stub demanded admittance only to be met with silence. The door,
though unlatched, was swollen from recent rains, and it took five good
minutes and all the strength of one small dog to push it open a narrow
foot, and then there were only silence and a dying fire by way of
greeting.

Stub dropped his burden on the floor and whined. He was particularly
proud to-night; he had brought home a partridge--the first he had ever
caught without the aid of his master's gun.

The figure on the bed did not move.

The dog picked up the bird he had dropped and walked toward his master.
This time he laid his offering close to the bunk and barked.

The man stirred and groaned. For long minutes the dog stood
motionless, watching; then he crept to the fire and almost into the hot
ashes in his efforts to warm the blood in his shivering little legs.

In the morning the fire was quite out. Stub stretched his stiffened
body and gazed about the room. Over on the bed the man did not stir
nor speak. The dead bird lay untouched at his side. There was a
whine, a bark, and a long minute of apparent indecision; then the dog
pattered across the floor, wormed himself through the partly open door,
and took the trail that led to the foothills.

Three times Stub brought to the fireless, silent cabin the result of
his day's hunt and laid it at his master's side, and always there was
only silence or a low groan to greet him.

On the third night it snowed--the first storm of the season. A