ot's death
yell, as, for an instant, he hung suspended from the sleigh, which had
caught on a projecting rock, and all was silent save the distant
clatter of horses' hoofs and the faint hallos of the drunken maniac.

At the moment of the collision, Daddy had risen to his feet and was
in some unaccountable way thrown uninjured into the road. Although
stunned and bewildered by the fall, his faculties gradually brightened
and he was soon in a condition to survey the scene.

On a ledge of rocks overhanging the precipice was the forlorn wreck of
the once fanciful little sleigh. In the depths below lay Fleet Foot,
stretched motionless upon the rocky bottom. The deep ravine into which
he had been plunged ran angling, and formed the point, where by her
presense of mind Little Wolf had saved herself, and Fanny from almost
certain death.

At this point the hill was less steep, and the snow had fallen to a
great depth, forming a bed as soft as down, and cushioning the very
rocks. Upon this capacious couch of unsullied whiteness, lay Little
Wolf and Fanny.

Powerless himself to render any assistance, Daddy opened his mouth and
there went forth a wail such as caused Little Wolf to start and
shudder as she thought of what it might portend. But her worst fears
were in a moment dispelled, as she saw Daddy's anxious face bending
imploringly over the bank.

"Honey" said he most dolefully.

"Yes, Daddy."

"'Tween you an' me, you ain't hurt nun, be you?"

"Not very much, Daddy, but when I try to rise I only sink deeper in
the snow. Hark! I hear the sound of bells."

"Well, now, if there ain't Mr. Sherman coming down the hill," said
Daddy delightfully. "'Tween you and me, Honey, that are Mr. Sherman
will hev fur to help you git out. His legs is a heap longer than these
old stumps of mine."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE RESCUE.

The circumstances which had brought Edward Sherman so opportunely to
the scene of disaster were simply these:

On his way to call upon Little Wolf he had ridden round to Hank
Glutter's saloon in order to leave a package of Eastern papers, as an
act of courtesy in return for previous favors from Hank. As he pulled
up before the door, Mr. Wycoff, urged by the proprietor, came reeling
out with blood-shot eyes, and swearing that he would never leave the
place without another drink. Hank had some trouble in coaxing him on
to his sled, and getting him started for home. Having rid himself of
his trouble