xpect to
find sleeping accommodations, Ortigies was always prepared for
visitors. Thus he was able to furnish the father with a couch so
placed that he virtually shared the bed with his child.

Ten minutes later, when he stole back into the room with the landlord
to see whether everything was right with his child, she was found sunk
in the sweet, dreamless slumber of infancy. The picture was so winsome
as she lay with her cheek resting upon the rough pillow, that Ortigies
stepped softly to the door and beckoned to his friends. Everyone stole
forward, and stood looking down for several minutes upon the sleeper,
and, as he did so, new resolves sprang into his heart. Already it may
be said they were better men because of the blessed messenger that had
come among them.

CHAPTER III

A SLIP OR TWO

The blizzard gradually subsided toward morning, but when the fall of
snow ceased, it lay to the depth of several feet on the level, while
the gorges were choked with vast drifts. The cold was below zero and
no work could be done in the diggings until a rise in temperature
came.

It was hardly light, however, on the succeeding morning, when three of
the miners accompanied Maurice Dawson in his search for the abandoned
wagon and team. There was not a trace of anything resembling a trail,
the footprints of the man having been obliterated by the wind-driven
snow, and the skill of the party was taxed to the utmost. Several
times they were compelled to rest, and Dawson himself suggested that
the search be given up until a change in the weather; but the kind
hearted men saw how deeply he grieved, and their sympathy kept them
toiling until about noon when success came.

The wagon was so covered with snow that it resembled a hummock, which
ordinarily would have been passed without notice. The horses and the
inanimate form within were like blocks of wood. The slight figure was
lifted tenderly from its resting place and brought to Dead Man's
Gulch.

Since the last recollection of Nellie was when she supposed her mother
alive, it was deemed kinder that she should not look upon the lifeless
form again. With hard labor the picks and shovels hollowed out a
shallow grave into which the form, wrapped about with a single
blanket, was laid away to rest until the last day.

The father, when questioned by the little one, explained that her
mother had gone on a long, long journey and there was no saying when
she would be seen again.