“She’s been pommelling a little common-sense into my addled noddle,” said Mrs. McAlpin. “I’ve been taking a little walk with Mrs. McAlpin, mother dear, that’s all. But what’s the matter, mother? Where’s daddie?” “Asleep, poor man. I don’t want him disturbed. Get me the bottle of ‘Number Six.’ There!” taking a draught of the fiery liquid. “I’ll soon be better. Go to bed.” Jean never could forgive herself for not sounding an alarm. During the remainder of the short summer night Mrs. Ranger wrestled with her fate, suffering and unattended. The heavy breathing of the weary oxen as they slept, or the low chewing of their cuds in the silence, the occasional hoot of an owl, or the sharp scream of a belated eagle, the sighing of the wind in the juniper-trees, and the acute pangs of her suffering body occupied her half conscious thoughts as she patiently awaited the dawn, which broke at last, spreading over earth and sky the radiance of approaching sunrise. “John dear, come quickly; I’m very sick, and I believe I’m dying!” cried the lone sufferer at last. Her husband was instantly aroused. “Why didn’t you call me long ago, darling?” he asked, crawling from beneath a tent and rubbing his eyes to accustom them to the light. A deadly fear blanched his cheeks as his wife fell back in convulsions in his arms. She opened her eyes after a prolonged spasm of pain and gave him a look of melting tenderness. “Make the biggest tent ready, boys!” he called, holding her close. “Fetch the feather bed and the buffalo robe. Get hot water, Sally. Get everything, everybody,” he exclaimed, carrying her in his arms and pacing excitedly to and fro. “Oh, why did I bring you out here into this wilderness?” he sobbed, as he laid her on the bed and chafed her stiffening fingers. “Only live, and the remainder of your days shall be as free from care as a bird’s!” “But I shall not live, John,” she whispered during a brief lucid interval, her eyes beaming with love and devotion. “Or, rather, I shall not die, but awake into newness of life. This body is worn out, but that is all. The life that animates it will never die, though I am going away.” No effort that circumstances permitted was spared to retain the vital spark. Not a man, woman, or child in the company would have hesitated at any possible sacrifice to keep her spirit within the body, or to give her ease and comfort in passing to the land of souls. The afternoon was wellnigh spent when she grew easier. A prolonged interval of consciousness followed. “Where’s Bobbie?” she asked in a whisper. “Here, mother!” cried the child, who had been a dazed and silent watcher all the day. “Bless his little life!” she whispered with a look of unutterable love. “Come, Bobbie dear,” said Jean, “let’s go out and see if we can’t find heaven, where God is. Mother is going there to live with the angels. Let’s see if there’ll be any room for us.”