hat dribbled into a sobbing cry.

"All--right!" answered the figure, in a smothered tone.

Huge, hunchbacked and cumbersome, the figure shuffled up the slight
slope between the level of the snow and the snowy platform, and
halted. A mittened hand went up to its head, and brushed the snow from
the face.

"Pete!" cried Haig.

He attempted to move forward, stumbled, lunged toward the Indian, and
collapsed in his arms. Pete, holding him, looked around until he saw
the opening of the cave, and fairly carried Haig inside. For a few
seconds, seeing nothing in the sudden change from the dazzling
whiteness of the snow to the dim red light of the cavern, Pete stood
still. Then Haig stiffened, stood erect, and pushed the Indian from
him.

"There! Look!" he gasped, pointing to where Marion lay, wild-eyed on
the bed, wrapped in her blankets. Then he sank down on the floor, with
his back against the wall, and gave himself up to dizziness and
exhaustion.

Pete quickly removed his thick mittens, unstrapped the bundle that
rested on his back, and took off the snowshoes that had caused his
approach over the snow to appear so like a lumbering animal's.
Flinging all these on the floor, he went swiftly to Marion's side, and
knelt there.

"Sick?" he asked.

She did not answer, but stared at him, and smiled.

"Listen!" she whispered. "Somebody--coming!"

Pete stood up, and looked at Haig.

"How long like this?" he asked.

"I forget. Three or four days."

"You well?"

"Yes," Haig answered weakly.

Pete came closer, and pointed to the leg that Haig kept thrust stiffly
out before him.

"Broke?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Six weeks."

The Indian asked no more questions just then, but hastened to open his
pack. First he found a bottle of whisky, and made Haig take a long
drink. Pete believed in two remedies for all human ills. He had a brew
of herbs that he had inherited from his tribal ancestors, his sole
inheritance besides his iron body. This brew was good for fevers; and
whisky was good for everything else. Having doctored Haig with the
whisky, he now turned to Marion with the brew. From a flask he poured
some of the dark brown liquid into a cup, let it come just to a boil
among the embers of the fire, and when it had cooled a little placed
it to Marion's lips. It was bitter, and she tried to draw away from
it, but Pete forced her gently to drain the cup.

Whatever the brew might be worth, the whisky certainly was e