shut.

"I'm just resting," she told herself. "In a minute I'll go on. In a
minute. After I've rested."

"Hallo-o-o-o!" from somewhere on the other side of the snow blanket.
"Hallo-o-o-o!" Fanny sat up, helloing shrilly, hysterically. She got to
her feet, staggeringly. And Clarence Heyl walked toward her.

"You ought to be spanked for this," he said.

Fanny began to cry weakly. She felt no curiosity as to his being there.
She wasn't at all sure that he actually was there, for that matter.
At that thought she dug a frantic hand into his arm. He seemed to
understand, for he said, "It's all right. I'm real enough. Can you
walk?"

"Yes." But she tried it and found she could not. She decided she was too
tired to care. "I stumbled over a thing--a horrible thing--a gravestone.
And I must have hurt my leg. I didn't know----"

She leaned against him, a dead weight. "Tell you what," said Heyl,
cheerfully. "You wait here. I'll go on down to Timberline Cabin for
help, and come back."

"You couldn't manage it--alone? If I tried? If I tried to walk?"

"Oh, impossible." His tone was brisk. "Now you sit right down here."
She sank down obediently. She felt a little sorry for herself, and glad,
too, and queer, and not at all cold. She looked up at him dumbly. He was
smiling. "All right?"

She nodded. He turned abruptly. The snow hid him from sight at once.

"Here lies Sarah Cannon. Lay to rest and died alone, April 26, 1893."

She sank down, and pillowed her head on her arms. She knew that this was
the end. She was very drowsy, and not at all sad. Happy, if anything.

"You didn't really think I'd leave you, did you, Fan?"

She opened her eyes. Heyl was there. He reached down, and lifted her
lightly to her feet. "Timberline Cabin's not a hundred yards away. I
just did it to try you."

She had spirit enough left to say, "Beast."

Then he swung her up, and carried her down the trail. He carried her,
not in his arms, as they do it in books and in the movies. He could not
have gone a hundred feet that way. He carried her over his shoulder,
like a sack of meal, by one arm and one leg, I regret to say. Any boy
scout knows that trick, and will tell you what I mean. It is the most
effectual carrying method known, though unromantic.

And so they came to Timberline Cabin, and Albert Edward Cobbins was in
the doorway. Heyl put her down gently on the bench that ran alongside
the table. The hospitable table that bore two smoking cup