und its way like oil,
seeming to penetrate the solid boards; and to the stove-pipe the storm
still laid hoarse lip, piping incessantly, now dolorously, now
savagely, now high, now low.

While the two men sat above the fire that night, discussing the sad
case of the woman, the child slept heavily, muttering and sobbing in
her sleep.

"The probabilities are," said Anson, in a matter-of-fact way, "the
Norsk took his oxen an' started f'r Summit f'r provisions, an' got
caught in this blizzard an' froze to death somewhere--got lost in some
gully, probably."

"But why didn't he come an' tell us to look after his fam'ly?"

"Well, I s'pose he was afraid to trust us. I don't wonder, as I
remember the treatment their women git from the Yankees. We look a good
'eal worse than we are, besides; an' then the poor cuss couldn't talk
to us, anyhow, an' he's be'n shy ever since he came, in October."

After a long silence, in which Gearheart went over and studied the face
of the sleeper, Anson said: "Well, if he's dead, an' the woman's dead
too, we've got to look after this child till some relative turns up.
An' that woman's got to be buried."

"All right. What's got to be done had better be done right off. We've
only one bed, Ans, an' a cradle hasn't appeared necessary before. How
about the sleepin' to-night? If you're goin' into the orphan-asylum
business, you'll have to open up correspondence with a furniture
store."

Ans reddened a little. "It ain't mine any more'n yours. We're pardners
in this job."

"No: I guess not. You look more like a dad, an' I guess I'll shift the
responsibility of this thing off onto you. I'll bunk here on the floor,
an' you take the child an' occupy the bed."

"Well, all right," answered Anson, going over in his turn and looking
down at the white face and tow-coloured hair of the little stranger.
"But say, we ain't got no night-clothes f'r the little chap. What'll we
do? Put her to sleep jes' as she is?"

"I reckon we'll have to to-night. Maybe you'll find some more clothes
over to the shanty."

"Say, Bert," said Ans later.

"Well?"

"It's too darn cold f'r you to sleep on the floor there. You git in
here on the back side, an' I'll take the child on the front. She'd be
smashed flatter'n a pancake if she was in the middle. She ain't
bigger'n a pint o' cider, anyway."

"No, ol' man. I'll lay here on the floor, an' kind o' heave a twist in
once in a while. It's goin' to be cold enough to free