swept it in slow circles down the ravine.

Mrs. Nitschkan uttered more or less profane exclamations of disgust; but
Pearl said nothing. After her first feeling of intense disappointment,
a new idea had come to her, and she hastened to act upon
it. As quickly as she could with her torn fingers she unfastened her
gown and slipped out of it, and then, unheeding Mrs. Nitschkan, who was
scolding her like a magpie, she threw it over Seagreave, tucking it
about him as best she could. The breath of the snow-damp air upon her
shoulders and arms was like a bath of ice water, but she scarcely
noticed it, for she heard Mrs. Nitschkan welcoming Jose.

[Illustration: "Holding cautiously to a little branch, she bent over
him."]

He and the gypsy immediately began swinging great coils of rope over the
cliff.

"Can you get the ropes under him, Pearl, and tie 'em in a kind of
cradle?" called Mrs. Nitschkan.

"Of course," she answered, "if you and Jose will tell me how."

Then, under their direction, she managed to bind the ropes securely
about Seagreave, moaning and weeping herself at the pain she evidently
caused him, although he did not so far recover consciousness as to
realize what was happening to him. When she had finished, she caught
another swinging end of rope which they threw her and climbed up the
cliff. She took a moment or two to get her breath, and then slowly and
with all the care possible under the circumstances, they drew Seagreave
up.

"Dios!" cried Jose, panting, "it is well that you two are so strong,
because we have yet to get him to the cabin. Fortunately I, also, have
great strength."

After some discussion it was finally decided that Pearl was to hasten on
ahead and build up the fires and heat water, while Mrs. Nitschkan and
Jose carried Harry up the hill.

It was for them a slow and difficult progress, but the cabin was finally
reached and the gypsy and Jose laid him on his bed, undressed him and
examined his injuries.

Presently Mrs. Nitschkan came into the outer room, where Pearl cowered
beside the fire, her hands over her face. She caught imploringly at the
other woman's skirt. "Oh, Nitschkan, what is it? Will he live? Tell me,
tell me, quick."

"Things might be better and they might be worse, but," with rough good
will, "you ain't no call to wear mourning yet. His back ain't hurt
serious, but his left leg and his right arm are both broken and he's an
awful lot cut and bruised, especially about