d
and exhaustion.

The dog was still with her, close at her heels, and she pulled off her
gauntlets clumsily, the act requiring a tremendous effort of will, and
tried to warm her fingers in the long hair of its body; but she felt no
sensation of heat and she replaced the gloves with the same effort.

The second night was full upon her now--a night so black that she could
feel the storm, but not see it. At intervals she experienced a sense of
detachment--as if she were a disembodied spirit, lonely, buffeted in a
white hell of torture.

Usually the faint tinkle of a sheep bell recalled her, but each time the
sound had less meaning for her, and the sheep seemed less and less
important. She was staggering, her knees had an absurd fashion of giving
way beneath her, but she could not prevent them. She was approaching the
end of her endurance; she could not resist much longer--this her dull
rambling brain told her over and over. And that curious phenomenon--that
feeling of confidence and exultation that she had had away back--when
was it? Long ago, anyhow--that had meant nothing--nothing--meant
nothing. The Supreme Intelligence who had made things didn't know she
existed, probably. Her coming was nothing; her going was nothing. And
now she was stepping off of something--she was going down hill--down
hill--the first gulch she had found in her wanderings. It was full of
drifts, likely she'd stumble in one and lie there--it was tiresome to
keep going, and it made no difference to anybody. Then she stumbled and
fell to the bottom, prone, her arms outstretched, the briars of a
wild-rose bush tearing her cheek as she lay face downward in the center
of it. But she did not know it--she was comfortable, very comfortable,
and she could as well lie there a little while--a little while--

Then somewhere a querulous voice was saying:

"I told you the picture would be overexposed when you were takin' it.
You'll never listen to me."

A deeper voice answered:

"The light was stronger than I thought; but, anyway, it's a humdinger of
a negative." Then, sharply, "Sh-ss-sh! What was that, Honey?"

A silence fell instantly.

"Honey!" Kate had a notion that she smiled, though her white face did
not alter its expression. Her tongue moved thickly, "I like that name,
Hughie."

Her collie whimpered and scratched again at the door of the wagon. The
traveling photographer pushed it open and the animal sprang inside,
leaping from one to the o