, he knew, do not heal, but
fester under such conditions.

"You can do it, Tom!" he said, and his voice was hoarse.

"I'll try--when he wakes," said Okanagan. "You'll find some flat
stones by the river. I want one with an open grit that you could grind
a knife down with."

It was long before Alton awakened, and then it became evident that he
was not wholly sensible. Loss of blood, over-fatigue, exposure and
hunger had left their mark on him, and while he rambled disjointedly a
bitter wind sprang up. It raged down the valley, bringing with it the
cold of the Pole, and while the pines raised their wild voices, the
water congealed in the kettle, and in spite of the great fire built
outside it the tent grew icy. At noon Tom of Okanagan glanced at his
patient and shook his head, while Seaforth felt his misgivings
confirmed as he saw his face.

"I guess we've got to wait for to-morrow. There'll be snow to-night,"
he said.

It was a long day to Seaforth. Alton moved restlessly in his sleep, or
talked and laughed meaninglessly during most of it, while when his eyes
closed Tom, who sat in a corner, laid the stone upon his lap and ground
at his knife. He had already rubbed the blade down to half its width,
but was apparently not contented, and Seaforth felt colder and set his
lips each time the harsh grating of steel broke through the roaring of
the pines that swelled in volume as the wind increased. It was seldom
that either of them spoke, though the big axeman's face would soften
momentarily when Alton moaned a little in his sleep. Then it grew
sombre and impassive again save for the little gleam in the eyes, and
Seaforth guessed what was in his companion's thoughts as the hard,
gnarled fingers tightened viciously on the steel.

Somehow the day wore through, and the snow came with the night. It
beat upon the canvas and fell hissing in the fire, which snapped and
crackled the more fiercely, while acrid vapour crept into the tent, and
now and then one of the men's eyes would close a moment. Seaforth had
indeed roused himself several times with a jerk when Okanagan pointed
to the roll of blankets and layer of springy twigs, and he saw that at
last Alton was sleeping restfully. Five minutes later the roar of the
branches seemed to sink into a musical lullaby, and the last thing he
saw was the big, impassive bushman sitting as still as the motionless
figure beneath him on the opposite side of the tent. Then he w