rness, she trembled so violently that she became unsteady on
her feet. It lost her the opportunity of firing. For, as she waited,
trying to get a blind aim, the squeals suddenly died out. The pigs had
gone over toward the edge of the lean-to.

When next she awoke,--awoke from a dream of well-spread tables, she
could not guess how much time had passed, or whether it was day or
night. The shack was pitch dark. Of one thing she could be sure: The
storm had not abated, so there was no hope of aid.

She knew something must be done. Simon and the team wrung her heart with
their pleas. Beside her, Marylyn was turning with fretful complaints.
The younger girl rolled her head from side to side constantly, and
moistened her lips. Dallas chopped up the rifle rack and made a fire of
it; then plied Marylyn with more of the pepper-tea. The section-boss
refused to partake. The first cup, he said, had burned him. Tobacco was
better solace.

Dallas did not taste the tea, either. A fearful nausea beset her. Her
heart went like a trip-hammer. She wrapped up, turning her back to the
blaze. Oddly enough her father did not make a second attack on the log.
His perique went far toward helping him fight the gnawing of hunger. He
could afford, having to endure little pain, to let the hours bring
Dallas to the point where she would ask the life of the bull. He knew
where she was most vulnerable. When Marylyn turned from the tea that now
partially eased her hunger, and began a demand for food, Simon would
die.

It came sooner than the section-boss expected. His lethargic sleep was
broken by Dallas' shaking him. As he opened his eyes, she thrust the
hatchet into his hands.

"Dad," she said hurriedly. "Get up. You got to do it. For Marylyn--for
Marylyn."

To him, it was a real victory. He wrenched a quid from his tobacco-slab,
grasped the hatchet handle and arose. Dallas had lighted the lantern
once more. Now she pinned one of the smaller blankets over his
shoulders. When he put on his hat and knelt before the chopped-out place
in the east wall, she wrapped a second blanket about his feet and legs.

"Go 'long, go 'long," he said, not unkindly. "Keep you'self warm." Then
the _hack_, _hack_, _hack_ began again.

She did not watch him, but donned the long cloak over her jersey, kissed
Marylyn and paced up and down the shack. For every step there was a blow
of the hatchet.

"Poor Simon! Poor Simon!" she whispered to herself. The bull was lowi