y Mother Shipton--once the strongest of the
party--seemed to sicken and fade. At midnight on the tenth day she
called Oakhurst to her side. "I'm going," she said, in a voice of
querulous weakness, "but don't say anything about it. Don't waken the
kids. Take the bundle from under my head and open it." Mr. Oakhurst
did so. It contained Mother Shipton's rations for the last week,
untouched. "Give 'em to the child," she said, pointing to the sleeping
Piney. "You've starved yourself," said the gambler. "That's what they
call it," said the woman, querulously, as she lay down again, and,
turning her face to the wall, passed quietly away.

The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer was
forgotten. When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to the
snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside and showed him a pair of
snow-shoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle. "There's
one chance in a hundred to save her yet," he said, pointing to Piney;
"but it's there," he added, pointing toward Poker Flat. "If you can
reach there in two days she's safe." "And you?" asked Tom Simson.
"I'll stay here," was the curt reply.

The lovers parted with a long embrace. "You are not going, too?" said
the Duchess, as she saw Mr. Oakhurst apparently waiting to accompany
him. "As far as the canon," he replied. He turned suddenly and kissed
the Duchess, leaving her pallid face aflame and her trembling limbs
rigid with amazement.

Night came, but not Mr. Oakhurst. It brought the storm again and the
whirling snow. Then the Duchess, feeding the fire, found that some
one had quietly piled beside the hut enough fuel to last a few days
longer. The tears rose to her eyes, but she hid them from Piney.

The women slept but little. In the morning, looking into each other's
faces, they read their fate. Neither spoke; but Piney, accepting the
position of the stronger, drew near and placed her arm around the
Duchess's waist. They kept this attitude for the rest of the day. That
night the storm reached its greatest fury, and, rending asunder the
protecting pines, invaded the very hut.

Toward morning they found themselves unable to feed the fire, which
gradually died away. As the embers slowly blackened, the Duchess crept
closer to Piney, and broke the silence of many hours: "Piney, can you
pray?" "No, dear," said Piney, simply. The Duchess, without knowing
exactly why, felt relieved, and, putting her head upon Piney's
shoul