oice faintly. Her lips moved
spasmodically. "It's broth," he said softly. "Billy killed a deer this
morning at daylight."

She stared up at him with a pair of vacant, feverish eyes. "Mrs. Van
Renssalaer cannot come--send these people away, Sam--I want them sent
away--at once--at once--Blakeman." The spasmodic movement of her jaw
continued, but her words ceased to be audible.

"Drink a little, dear," Sam pleaded. "It will do you good." The lips
smiled feebly, pressing wearily against the rusty edge of the tin cup;
then she sank back in his arms in a dead faint.

* * * * *

By the second morning her splendid physique came to the rescue.
Weakened as she was by fever, she would, she insisted, take her
place with the others when they were ready to start. To this Thayor
assented, as they were now nearing their last resting place, the
railroad lying but half a day's tramp beyond where they were camped.

As the thought of her freedom rose in her mind a strange feeling came
over her.

"Won't somebody sing?" she asked. "It's been so dreary for so many
wretched long miles. Maybe I can." They were grouped about the
smouldering fire at the time, Margaret's head in her lap, Holcomb, the
old trapper and the others in a half circle.

Thayor looked at his wife with mingled pride and astonishment: pride
in her pluck and her desire to lighten the hearts of those about
her--astonishment--amazement really, in the change that had come over
her.

Alice lifted her eyes to her husband and began, in her rich contralto
voice, a song that recalled the days when he had first known and loved
her. She sang it all through, never once taking her eyes from the man
who sat apart from the others, his head buried deep in his hands.

As the last note died away a crackling in the brush behind the lean-to
was heard. The two woodsmen sprang instantly to their feet; Annette
screamed. The drums of Alice's ears were thumping with the beating of
her heart. Holcomb reached for his rifle laying between his own and
the Clown's pack, and hurriedly cocked it. The old dog had already
plunged ahead into the underbrush with a low growl.

"Hold on, Billy," came a thin voice out of the blackness beyond and to
the left of the lean-to. "Don't shoot!"

A short, gaunt figure now leaped noiselessly--rather than strode--out
into the firelight. He moved with the furtive agility of an animal,
making straight for the fire, over which he s