the progress of the plow, and its consequent engines, within.
Even from the distance, Barry could hear the surge of the terrific
impact, as the rotary, pushed by the four tremendous "compounds" and
Malletts which formed its additional motive power, smashed against the
tight-jammed contents of the shed, snarled and tore at its enemy, then,
beaten at last by the crusted ice of the rails, came grudgingly back,
that the ice crews, with their axes and bars, might break the
crystallization from the rails and give traction for another assault.
Houston started forward, only to stop. A figure in the dim light of
the cook car had caught his eye. Medaine Robinette.

She was helping with the preparation of the midnight meal for the
laborers, hurrying from the steaming cauldrons to the benches and
baskets, filling the big pots with coffee, arranging the tin cups in
their stacks for the various crews, and doing something that Houston
knew was of more value than anything else,--bringing a smile to the
tired men who labored beside her. And this in spite of the fact that
the black rings of fatigue were about her eyes, that the pretty,
smoothly rounded features had the suggestion of drawnness, that the
lips, when they ceased to move, settled into the slightest bit of a
droop. Now and then she stopped by one of the tables and clung to it,
as though for support,--only to perk her head with a sudden little
motion of determination, to turn, and then with a laugh go on with her
work. Presently he heard her singing above the clatter of kitchenware
and the scuffling of the men with their heavy, hobnailed shoes. And he
knew that it was a song of the lips, not of the heart, that she might
lighten the burden of others in forgetfulness of self.

And as he watched her, Houston knew for all time that he loved her,
that he wanted her above all things, in spite of what she had been led
to believe of him, in spite of everything. His hands extended, as
though to reach toward her,--the aching appeal of a lonely, harassed
man, striving for a thing he could not touch. Then hope surged in his
heart.

If the woman back there in the west country only would tell! If she
would only keep the promise which she had given him in her
half-delirium! It meant the world to Barry Houston now,--something far
greater even than the success for which he had struggled; she could
tell so much!

For Houston felt that Agnes Jierdon knew the details of practically