down in spite of its burning clutch at tender
membranes, gnawing and tearing at their meal like beasts at the kill,
then, still wadded in their clothing, sinking to the floor--and to
sleep. The air was rancid with the odor of wet, steaming clothing.
Men crawled over one another, then dropped to the first open spot, to
flounder there a moment, then roar in snoring sleep. Against the wall
a bearded giant half leaned, half lay, one tooth touching the ragged
lips and breaking the filmy skin, while the blood dripped, slow drop
after slow drop, upon his black, tousled beard. But he did not wake.

Of them all, only Houston, tired even as they were tired, yet with
something that they had forgotten, a brain, remained open-eyed. What
had become of Medaine? Had she recovered? Had she too gone to
Tollifer, perhaps on a later trip of the plow? The thoughts ran
through his head like the repetition of some weird refrain. He sought
sleep in vain. From far away came the whistles of locomotives,
answering the signals of the snowplows ahead. Outside some one
shouted, as though calling to him; again he remembered the bulky cars
of machinery at Tollifer. It was partially, at least, his battle they
were fighting out there, while he remained inactive. He rose and
sought the door, fumbling aimlessly in his pockets for his gloves.
Something tinkled on the floor as he brought them forth, and he bent to
pick up the little crucifix with its twisted, tangled chain, forgotten
at Tollifer. Dully, hazily, he stared at it with his red eyes, with
the faint feeling of a duty neglected. Then:

"She only said they might want it," he mumbled. "I'm sorry--I should
have remembered. I'm always failing--at something."

Then, dully anxious to do his part, to take his place in the fighting
line, he replaced the tiny bit of gold in his pocket, and threading his
way through the circuitous tunnel of snow, stepped forth into the night.

It was one of those brief spaces of starlight between storms, and the
crews were making the most of it. The wind had ceased temporarily,
allowing every possible workman to be pulled from the ordinary task of
keeping the tracks clear of the "pick-ups" of the wind, blowing the
snow down from the drifts of the hill, and to be concentrated upon the
primary task of many,--the clearing of the packed sittings which filled
the first snowshed.

Atop the oblong shed, swept clear by the wind, a light was signalling,
telling