than a man. Epics have been written on less; it was a
friendship to be glorified in some great painting or bronze. But then he
touched so lightly on his own part in the story; in the incense he burned
to David he was obscured."

Foster stood watching her in surprise. The color that the wind had failed
to whip back to her cheeks burned now, two brilliant spots; raindrops, or
tears, hung trembling on her lashes, and through them flamed the blue
fires of her eyes.

"So," he said slowly, "so, Tisdale did hunt you up, after all; and, of
course, you had the whole hard story from him."

"I heard him tell it, yes, but he left out about the--wolves."

"Wolves?" repeated Foster incredulously. "There were no wolves. Why, to be
overtaken by a pack, single-handed, on the trail, is the worst that can
happen to a man."

She nodded. "Mr. Banks told me. He had talked with the miners who found
him. It was terrible." A great shudder ran through her body; for a moment
she pressed her fingers to her eyes, then she added with difficulty,
almost in a whisper: "He was defending David."

"No, no! Great Scott! But see here,"--Foster laid his hand on her arm and
drew her on down the path, "don't try to tell me any more. I understand.
Banks shouldn't have told you. Come, remember Tisdale won through. He's
safe."

After a silence, she said: "I doubt if you know how ill he has been."

"Tisdale? No, I hadn't heard."

"I only learned to-day; and he has been in a Washington hospital all these
months. The surgeons advised amputating his hand," she went on with a
tremulous breathlessness, "but he refused. He said he would take the risk;
that right hand was more than half of him, his 'better half.'"

Involuntarily Foster smiled in recognition of that dominant note in
Tisdale. "But he never seemed more physically fit than on the night I left
Seattle," he expostulated. "And there isn't a man in Alaska who
understands the dangers and the precautions of frostbite better than
Hollis Tisdale does."

"It was not frost; it was a vicious horse," she answered. "It happened
after you saw him, on that trip to Wenatchee, while he was leading the
vixen over a break in the road. We were obliged to spend the night at a
wretched way-house, and the hurt became infected."

Foster stopped. "You were obliged to spend the night?" he inquired.

"Yes. It happened in this way. Mr. Tisdale had taken the Milwaukee line
over the mountains, intending to finish the trip