lt they had
struck a familiar trail. But in her heart she doubted whether either of
the riders would come to shelter alive. The ponies traveled upward into
the hills.

Joyce, lying forward helpless across the saddle horn, slid gently to the
ground. Her friend stopped. What could she do? Once she had descended,
it would be impossible to get back into the saddle.

Searching the hillside, the girl's glance was arrested by a light. She
could not at first believe her good fortune. From the saddle she slipped
to the ground in a huddle, stiffly found her feet again, and began to
clamber up the stiff incline. Presently she made out a hut. Stumblingly,
she staggered up till she reached the door and fell heavily against it,
clutching at the latch so that it gave to her hand and sent her lurching
into the room. Her knees doubled under her and she sank at the feet of
one of two men who sat beside a table playing cards.

The man leaped up as if he had seen a ghost. "Goddlemighty, it's a
woman!"

"My friend ... she's outside ... at the foot of the hill ... save her,"
the girl's white lips framed.

They slipped on mackinaw coats and disappeared into the white swirling
night. Moya crouched beside the red-hot stove, and life slowly tingled
through her frozen veins, filling her with sharp pain. To keep back the
groans she had to set her teeth. It seemed to her that she had never
endured such agony.

After a time the men returned, carrying Joyce between them. They put her
on the bed at the far corner of the room, and one of the men poured from
a bottle on the table some whisky. This they forced between her
unconscious lips. With a shivering sigh she came back to her
surroundings.

Moya moved across to the group by the bed.

"I'll take care of her if you'll look after the horses," she told the
men.

One of them answered roughly. "The horses will have to rough it. This
ain't any night for humans to be hunting horses."

"They can't be far," Moya pleaded.

Grudgingly the second man spoke. "Guess we better get them, Dave. They
were down where we found the girl. We can stable them in the tunnel."

Left to herself, Moya unlaced the shoes of Miss Seldon. Vigorously she
rubbed the feet and limbs till the circulation began to be restored.
Joyce cried and writhed with the pain, while the other young woman
massaged and cuddled her in turn. The worst of the suffering was past
before the men returned, stamping snow from their feet and s