ay grade beneath their
feet, set off at a good lope. It was now quite dark. The snow was
driving bitterly in Tommy's face, but that stout little Irishman cared
nothing for himself. His concern was for the man lying under the buffalo
robes in the sleigh. Mile after mile the bronchos kept up their tireless
lope, encouraged by the cheery admonitions and the cracking whip of
their driver.

"Begob, but it's cowld enough to freeze the tail aff a brass monkey.
I'll jist be afther givin' the lad a taste."

He tied the reins to the seat, gave his bronchos a parting lash, took a
flask from his pocket, and got down on his knees beside the sick man.

"Here, Scotty," he said coaxingly, "take another taste. It'll put life
into ye." The sick man tried to swallow once, twice, choked hard, then
shook his head. "Now, God be merciful! an' can't ye swally at all? An'
the good stuff it is, too! Thry once more, Scotty darlin'. Ye'll need
it an' we're not far aff now." Once more the sick man made a desperate
effort. He got a little of the whiskey down, then turned away his
head. The tender-hearted little Irishman covered him over carefully and
climbed into his seat. "He couldn't swally it," he said to himself in an
awed voice, putting the flask to his own lips, "Begorra, an' it's near
the Kingdom he must be!" To Tommy it appeared an infallible sign of
approaching dissolution that a man should reject the contents of his
flask. He gave himself to the business of getting out of the bronchos
all the speed they had. "Come on, now, me bhoys!" he shouted through
the gale, "what are ye lookin' at? Sure, there's nothin' purtier than
yerselves can be seen in the dark. Hut, there! Kick, wud ye? Take that,
thin, an' larn manners! Now ye're beginin' to move! Hooray!"

So with voice and lash Tommy continued to urge his team till they came
out into a clearing at the far end of which twinkled the lights of the
new railroad town being built about Maclennan's camp No. 1.

"Hivin be praised! we're there at last. Begob, it's mesilf that thought
ye'd moved to the ind of nowhere. We're here, Scotty, me man. In ten
howly minutes we'll have ye by the fire an' the docthor puttin' life
into ye wid a spoon. Are ye there, Scotty?" But there was no movement
in response. "Howly Mary! Give us a little more speed!" He stood up over
his team, lashing and yelling till the tired beasts were going at
full gallop. As he drew near the camp the sound of singing came on the
dr