He dreaded to open the front door of his hut. When he did, he found the thing that he feared: the wind had ceased after midnight, and the snow had been falling ever since, and still was falling. It had whitened the walls of the canon, and, before the wind had ceased, had eddied and drifted about the hut in a way that filled the young man with alarm for the future. Would his strength be sufficient to fight it if the storm should be greatly prolonged, to the end that he and his charge should not be buried alive? He put this dread away, and with a heavy heart followed the steep trail down to the road. CHAPTER FIVE NOON was near at hand when the guest of the hut waked to full consciousness. Her first impulse was to cry out with the pain that tortured her; but her strong will assumed command, and she looked inquiringly into the anxious face beside her Obviously she realized that a catastrophe had overtaken her, and she was now silently demanding an explanation. Wilder had not expected this. Her calmness, and, more than that, her silent demand, were so different from the childish and unreasonable petulance that he had expected, that he was unprepared and confused. “You have been hurt,” he stammered; “and it will be necessary for you to keep very quiet for a time.’ “How was I hurt?” she faintly asked. “The horses were frightened by the storm and ran away.” “Oh, the storm! I remember.” Then she looked quickly and anxiously about. “My father,” she said,--“where is he?” For a moment the oddly distorted face in the branches came grimacing between Wilder and his duty, but with a gasp and a repelling gesture he drove it away,--not so dexterously but that his struggle was seen. “He--has gone to bring help,” he said. Then, quickly leaving the bedside to conceal his weakness and the shame of the lie that choked him, he added hastily, “Yes, he was not hurt; and when he and I had brought you to this hut he went to find help. He will return as soon as possible.” He felt that her glance was upon him with merciless steadiness. “Now,” said he, returning to the couch, “I will remove these bandages,”--referring to the cords that bound her to the bed;--“but you must promise me not to move except under my direction. Do you?” She slightly nodded an assent, and he unbound her. “Come,” he added, “you must have some of this broth. No, don’t try to rise; I will feed you from this spoon. It is not too hot, is it? That is good. Presently you will feel much better. You are not in much pain now, are you?” “I am not a child,” she answered, with a slight touch of disdain and reproof. But he cheerily said,-- “Excellent, excellent! That is the way to feel!” She lay silent for a while, looking up at the roof. Presently she said,-- “I imagine that I am badly hurt. Please tell me how and where I am injured.”