e and had been
feeding him, was putting away the cup. Joey faced the waking woman and,
catching her look, he put out his hands, rocking gayly, and crowed.
Instantly a flash of intelligence lighted her face. She smiled and tried
to stretch out her arms. "Come!" she said.

Elizabeth caught up the child and placed him beside her on the rug. He put
out his soft, moist fingers, touching her face curiously, with gathering
doubt. Then, satisfied this was not his mother, as in the uncertain light
he must have supposed, he drew back with a whimper and clung to Elizabeth.

At the same moment Mrs. Weatherbee's smile changed to disappointment. "His
eyes are brown, Elizabeth," she said, "and my baby's were blue, like
mine." And she turned her face, weeping; not hysterically, like a woman
physically unstrung, but with the slow, deep sobs of a woman who has
wakened from a dream of one whom she has greatly loved--and buried.

CHAPTER XXVIII

SURRENDER

Tisdale had not seen Beatriz Weatherbee since she had been brought
semi-conscious from the foot of the mountain, but he learned from the hotel
physician the following morning that she was able to travel on the special
train which was coming from Seattle to transport the Morganstein party
home. The first inquiry, after news of the disaster reached the outside
world, was from Joey's grandfather, a lumberman on Puget Sound. Put in
communication with Tisdale, he telephoned he would arrive at the Springs
on the special. So, leaving the child in charge of the housekeeper, Hollis
returned to the west portal, to join the little force of rescuers. It was
then no longer a question of life-saving, but of identification. The Swiss
chalet, which had ceased to be the mecca of pleasure-seekers, had become a
morgue.

But Lucky Banks, who went with him, had received a message from Mrs.
Weatherbee, and in the interval that Tisdale was busy with long-distance
and disposing of Joey, the prospector went up to her room. She was pale
and very weak, but she smiled as he approached her couch and held out her
hand. "No, the right one," she said, and added, taking it with a gentle
pressure, "I know, now, what it is--to be cold."

The little man nodded. His face worked, and he hurried to conceal the
maimed hand in his pocket. "But the doctor says you'll pull through good
as new," he commented. "I am proud to know that; my, yes."

"And I am proud of you, Mr. Banks. It seems incredible, but Miss
Morg