is flask--more carefully
husbanded--was now empty. He almost gave up striving. Why not give
way to the almost uncontrollable desire to lie down and rest in the
snow? He could hold out no longer!

It was at that critical moment that through the intense stillness of
the mountain solitudes he heard the bark of a dog! Once more he picked
up courage. Staggering on a few steps further, he saw from behind an
intervening rock, which had concealed it till then, the light from a
window not far ahead!

All interest in his errand had departed long before. What did he care
if the mountain were full of illicit stills? The only desire that
possessed him now was that roused by the human instinct in every man in
peril of his life--the desire to escape from danger. Oh, for
sufficient strength to creep onwards! If he could but hold out a
little, shelter and warmth, and--above all--safety would be his! So
once again, wearily, painfully, and slowly, he plowed his way through
the drifts toward the beacon that shone ahead.

* * * * * *

Within the modest dwelling to which Davie Forbes was wont to refer as
his "hoosachie" (little house), on snow-clad Ben Sguarrach, the
living-room looked cosy enough on that wild evening. By the two
windows--one at the gable-end of the house, the other near the door--no
icy draught could enter, for both apertures were hermetically sealed!
All the ventilation deemed necessary during the daytime came through
the usually open door, by which Maggie Jean was continually passing in
and out, bent on domestic duties. (Like other Scottish housewives, she
carried out much of her rougher and dirtier housework in the open.) At
night, when work was over, the bright lamp and fire of glowing peat and
blazing logs kept the house warm and snug; the pungent "reek" from the
peat, too, acted as a healthy disinfectant.

Everything was scrupulously clean. The flagged floor, the deal table,
the dresser, with its shelves filled with crockery--all spoke of
frequent and thorough scrubbing. The high mantel-shelf bore brass
candlesticks--more for ornament than use--which had been polished till
they shone like gold. The very walls had been so often subjected to
Maggie Jean's whitewashing brush that they were spotless.

Under the overhanging ingle-nook, in which a ham or two were hanging
overhead, sat Davie in his own special corner and his own special
chair, calmly smoking; opposite sat