t ten feet of slack
remaining, and he heaved a sigh of relief. He could feel the man tugging
at the rope, and after a moment of silence the voice sounded from below:
"Haul away!"

Connie and 'Merican Joe braced their feet on the rocks and pulled. They
could feel the rope sway like a pendulum as the man left the floor, and
then, hand over hand they drew him to the surface. While the Indian had
gone for the blankets, Connie had cut a stout pole to be used to support
the load while they got the man out of the hole. Even with the pole to
sustain the weight it was no small task to draw the man over the edge,
but at last it was accomplished, and James Dean stood once more in the
light of day after his years of imprisonment in the bowels of the earth.
With a cry of pain the man clapped his hands to his eyes, and Connie
immediately bound his handkerchief over them, as 'Merican Joe wrapped
the wasted form in thickness after thickness of blankets. When the
blankets were secured with the _babiche_ line the Indian lifted the man
to his shoulders, and struck out for the tent, as Connie hurried on
ahead to build up the fire and prepare some food.

The bandage was left on the man's eyes, for the daylight had proved too
strong, but after the tent had warmed, the two dressed him in their
extra clothing. The man ate ravenously of broiled caribou steak and
drank great quantities of tea, after which, the day being still young,
camp was struck, and the outfit headed for the cabin.

It was midnight when they drew up at the door, and soon a roaring fire
heated the interior. Connie turned the light very low, and removed the
bandage from the man's eyes. For a long time he sat silent, staring
about him, his eyes travelling slowly from one object to another, and
returning every few moments to linger upon the faces of his rescuers. At
times his lips moved slightly, as if to name some familiar object, but
no sound came, and his eyes followed every movement with interest, as
'Merican Joe prepared supper.

When the meal was ready the man stepped to the pole-shelf that served as
a washstand, and as he caught sight of his face in the little mirror
that hung above it, he started back with a cry of horror. Then he
stepped to the mirror again, and for a long time he stared into it as
though fascinated by what he beheld. In a daze, he turned to Connie.
"What--what year is it?" he asked, in a voice that trembled with
uncertainty. And when the boy told h