ing away, there was a wild moaning cry,
and a sharp report from close at hand.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

BEGGING YOUR BREAD IN GOLDEN DAYS.

"It is the dog's master, Bel," whispered Dallas, springing to the door
and beginning to unfasten it, just as the dog raised his head and whined
dismally.

The disposition was there to help, and as soon as he could get the door
open, Dallas dashed out into the whirling snow, which rushed in blinding
eddies about the hut, while Abel, awestricken and panting, clung to the
post and tried to pierce the black darkness.

"It is madness. It means death," he groaned to himself.

Even as the thought crossed his mind Dallas staggered back, to stand
panting and wiping the snow from his eyes.

Then he dashed out again, but was beaten back breathless and exhausted.

Again he tried, for Abel had not the heart to stay him, and a good ten
minutes elapsed--minutes of anxiety to the watcher, which seemed like
hours--before his companion was literally driven in again, to fall
completely exhausted upon the floor.

"I can't do it, Bel," he said at last feebly. "I never thought the wind
and snow could be like this. It's death to go out there, and I felt
that I should never get back again."

He struggled to his feet once more and made for the door, but Abel
seized him by the arm and tried to shut out the blinding snow, which had
given the interior of the hut the appearance of winter, and after a hard
struggle the door was closed.

"Bel, that biggest tree at the side is split right down, and half has
fallen this way," said Dallas breathlessly. "It must have been that we
heard. I fell over it as I tried to find the door."

"You shall not go again," said Abel.

"I cannot," replied Dallas sadly; "but I feel sure now that no one is
asking for help."

The hours passed and the fire was made up again and again, while towards
morning the storm lulled.

The dog lay perfectly still; but he was not dead when Dallas roused
himself up to examine him, for he feebly rapped the floor with his tail.

Abel had sunk into the sleep of utter weariness, and Dallas let him lie
as he replenished the fire, opened the door softly, plunged through the
snow, and, as well as the darkness would allow, satisfied himself that
he was right about the riven tree. "It was very horrible to think,
though," he said to himself; "but no one could have been travelling on
such a night."

He returned to the hut, repleni