'fore ever we git there.'

We all worked upon him with might and main. The white went slowly out of
his face. We lifted him to a sitting posture. Mother and Hope and Uncle
Eb were rubbing his hands and feet.

'Where am I?' he enquired, his face now badly swollen.

'At David Brower's,' said I.

'Huh?' he asked, with that kindly and familiar grunt of interrogation.

'At David Brower's,' I repeated.

'Well, I'll have t' hurry,' said he, trying feebly to rise. 'Man's dyin'
over--' he hesitated thoughtfully, 'on the Plains,' he added, looking
around at us.

Grandma Bisnette brought a lamp and held it so the light fell on his
face. He looked from one to another. He drew one of his hands away and
stared at it.

'Somebody froze?' he asked.

'Yes,' said I.

'Hm! Too bad. How'd it happen?' he asked. 'I don't know.'

'How's the pulse?' he enquired, feeling for my wrist.

I let him hold it in his hand.

'Will you bring me some water in a glass?' he enquired, turning to
Mrs Brower, just as I had seen him do many a time in Gerald's illness.
Before she came with the water his head fell forward upon his breast,
while he muttered feebly. I thought then he was dead, but presently he
roused himself with a mighty effort.

'David Brower!' he called loudly, and trying hard to rise, 'bring the
horse! bring the horse! Mus' be goin', I tell ye. Man's dyin' over--on
the Plains.'

He went limp as a rag then. I could feel his heart leap and struggle
feebly.

'There's a man dyin' here,' said David Brower, in a low tone. 'Ye
needn't rub no more.

'He's dead,' Elizabeth whispered, holding his hand tenderly, and looking
into his half-closed eyes. Then for a moment she covered her own with
her handkerchief, while David, in a low, calm tone, that showed the
depth of his feeling, told us what to do.

Uncle Eb and I watched that night, while Tip Taylor drove away to
town. The body lay in the parlour and we sat by the stove in the room
adjoining. In a half-whisper we talked of the sad event of the day.

'Never oughter gone out a day like this,' said Uncle Eb. 'Don' take much
t' freeze an ol' man.'

'Got to thinking of what happened yesterday and forgot the cold,' I
said.

'Bad day t' be absent-minded,' whispered Uncle Eb, as he rose and
tiptoed to the window and peered through the frosty panes. 'May o' got
faint er sumthin'. Ol' hoss brought 'im right here--been here s' often
with 'in'.'

He took the lantern and went out a mo