w the blood seemed to surge through
her veins in new volume, and she labored feverishly to release the
other hand. At last she undid a knot with her teeth, and slipped the
blanket from her, beating her hands together to restore circulation.
Her right leg still was too numb to stand upon, but she crept forward,
dragging it helplessly behind her over the snow, to where Hamlin lay.

The girl's heart seemed to stop beating as she looked at him--at the
white, colorless face, the closed eyes, the discoloration of blood
staining the temple. Yet he lived; his faint breath was plainly
perceptible in the frosty air.

"O God!" she sobbed, "what can I do!"

It was an unrestrained cry of anguish, yet there was no hesitation in
action. She had forgotten everything except that helpless figure lying
before her on the snow--her own danger, the surrounding desolation, the
dead forms accentuating that wilderness tragedy. With bare hands she
bathed his face in snow, rubbing the flesh until it flushed red,
pressing her own warm body against his, her lips speaking his name
again and again, almost hysterically, as though she hoped thus to call
him back to consciousness. Her exploring fingers told her that it was
no serious wound which had creased the side of his head; if there was
no other he would surely revive, and the discovery sent her blood
throbbing through her veins. She lifted his head to her lap, chafing
his cold wrists frantically, her eyes staring again out across the
barren snow fields, with fresh realization of their intense loneliness.
She choked back a sob of despair, and glanced down again into Hamlin's
face. He did not stir but his eyes were open, regarding her in
bewilderment.

"Molly," he whispered, forgetting, "is this really you? What has
happened?"

The girl's eyes filled instantly with tears, but she did not move,
except that the clasp of her hands grew stronger.

"Yes, I am Molly; please do not move yet. You have been hurt, but it
is all right now."

"Hurt!" he lifted his head slightly and stared about; then dropped it
again with a sigh of content. "Oh, yes, now I know. Hughes shot me
from behind." He struggled upright, in spite of her efforts at
restraint, feeling beside him for the rifle. "Dupont was there, behind
that dead pony. What became of Dupont?"

She dropped her face in her hands, her form trembling.

"He--he got away. He thought you were dead; to--to make sure he came
over and kick