He hurriedly dragged his entire supply of firewood before the shelter and set it to blazing. Then he plunged on foot downward through the wind-swept, snow-driven darkness. It was a terrible journey. He slipped and fell so often and so far that when the light behind him dwindled to a faint point, he dared continue no farther. Standing waist-deep in snow, he whistled and called. But the cyclone wind drove the sound back into his teeth. Sick at soul, he prepared to turn back. He beat his arms across his chest, stamped his feet, slipped, and once more rolled downward. He brought up with a crash in a cedar clump. A dog barked and threw himself against Doug with a snarl that changed at once to a whine of joy. "Wolf Cub! Wolf Cub! Where is she?" He grasped the dog's collar. It was very dark beneath the trees. Wolf Cub led him forward for a few feet. He stumbled over a soft, huddled form. He rolled to his knees and pulled a blanket aside. Judith!--her head pillowed on her knees. "Judith! Judith!" No reply. Doug put the blanket over her again and, with hands like frozen clods, jerked out his sheath ax and with infinite difficulty lopped off a cedar bough and got a fire to going. Sifting snow pellets, and the little wild mare's beautiful anxious eyes and drifted forelock, then that form beneath the blanket. Douglas heaped the fire high, then hurled the blanket away. "Judith! Judith! Judith!" Sobbing, he crouched beside her, gathered her in his arms, laid her cold face in his breast, tried to enwrap her body with his. "Judith! Judith!" Wolf Cub whined in eager circles. Douglas laid his cheek against her lips. A faint warmth. He shook her, frantically, and beat her hands with his. Then he rose and balanced her on her feet. She hung limply in his arms. He huddled her before the fire again and forced some whiskey down her throat. He manipulated her inert body until when he lifted her again onto her feet she was able to stand. Still half in his arms. Then he forced her to stumble back and forth beside the fire. "Judith! Judith! Judith!" "It's you, Doug!" weakly and with bewildered eyes. "O Jude, how could you! How could you!" "Poor Buster--dead!" muttered Judith. "I know! I found him. You must keep going, Judith. Lean on me but keep going." But circulation was returning to her strong young body. Shortly she was able to stand alone and to ask Doug where he had come from. "My camp is up the mountain a ways. Why didn't you have a fire?" "Lost my pack when I lost Buster. Lost my match-safe when I fell with the little wild mare this afternoon." "I'm going to take you back up to my camp, Judith." "I don't think I can make it, Doug. It would have to be a foot climb." "You must make it. There is nothing at all here to keep us both from freezing to death. We'll start now, while I can still see the fire I left up there." "I can't, Doug! You bring your camp down here."