le, however, to cross the ridge in front: the valley beyond was
more sheltered by the wind and she might pick up the trail again. At
least she could follow her own tracks back, if she failed. She sped
swiftly on.

She had guessed right. Standing on the ridge top she could see, far off
through one of the treeless glades that are found so often in the spruce
forest, the long path of a snowshoe trail. Instinctively she followed
it with her eyes.

Clear where the trail entered the spruce thicket, her keen eyes made out
a curious, black shadow against the snow. For a single second she eyed
it calmly, wondering what manner of wild creature it might be. Its
outline grew more distinct under her intense gaze, and she cried out.
It was only a little sound, half a gasp and half a sob, but it expressed
the depths of terror and distress never known to her before.

It seemed to her that she could not move at first. She could only stand
and gaze. The heart in her breast turned to ice, her blood seemed to go
still in her veins. She recognized this figure now. It was Bill, lying
still in the frozen drifts.

For endless hours, it seemed to her, she stood impotent with horror. In
reality, the time was not an appreciable fraction of a breath. Then,
sobbing, she mushed frantically down toward him. She fairly raced,--with
never a misstep. For all the ghastly sickness that swept over her,
she held her body in perfect discipline. She had no doubt but that this
man was dead. Likely he had lain there for hours, and really only a
very short time of such cold as this was needed to take life. Already,
she thought, the life had gone from his dark, gentle eyes; the brave
heart was still; the brave heart was still; the mighty muscles lifeless
clay.

No moment of her life had ever been fraught with such overwhelming
bitterness as this. She had never known such fear, even in the grip of
the wild waters or during the grizzly's charge. This was something that
went deeper than mere life: it touched realms of her spirit undreamed
of, and the blow seemed more cruel and more dreadful than any that
the world could deal direct to her. If she had paused for one second
of self-analysis, heaven knows what light might have burst upon her
spirit--what deep and wondrous realizations of her attitude toward Bill
might have come to her; but she did not pause. She only knew that she
must reach his side. Her only thought was that Bill was dead,