She buried her face in her hands, wondering, even then, why she felt such a terrible pang, not of hope destroyed, but because the man had died. It passed like a flash for, on the instant, she heard another yell from Banker, and a yell, this time, of terror. At the same moment she was aware of thundering hoofs bearing down upon them and of a voice that shouted; a voice which was the sweetest music she had ever heard. Dimly she was aware that Banker had dropped his rifle and scuttled like a scared rabbit into some place of shelter. Her whole attention was concentrated on those rattling, drumming hoofs. She looked up, tried to rise, but fell back with the pain of the effort stabbing her unheeded. A horse was sliding to a stop, forefeet planted, snow and dirt flying from his hoofs. De Launay was leaping to the ground and the pack horses were galloping clumsily up. Then his arms were around her and she was lifted from the ground. "What's the matter, Solange? What's happened? Where's the boys? And Banker, what's he doing shooting at me?" His questions were pouring out upon her, but she could not answer them. She clung to him and sobbed. "I thought he had killed you!" His laugh was music. "That old natural? He couldn't kill me. Saw him aim and ducked. Shot right over me. But what's happened to you?" He ran a hand over her face and found it hot with fever. "Why, you're sick! And your foot's bare. Here, tell me what has happened?" She could only sob brokenly, her strength almost gone. "That terrible old man! He did it. He's hiding--to shoot you." De Launay's hand had run over her thick mane of hair and he felt her wince. He recognized the great bump on the skull. "Death of a dog!" he swore in French. "_Mon amie_, is it this old devil who has injured you?" She nodded and he began to look about him for Banker. But the prospector was not in sight, although his discarded rifle was on the ground. The lever was down where the prospector had jerked it preparatory to a second shot which he had been afraid to fire. The empty ejected shell lay on the snow near by. De Launay turned back to Solange. He bent over her and carefully restored her stocking and shoe. Then he fetched water and bathed her head, gently gathering her hair together and binding it up under the bandeau which he found among her scattered belongings. She told him something of what had happened, ascribing the prospector's actions to insanity. But when De Launay asked about Sucatash and Dave she could do no more than tell him that the first had gone to the ranch to get snowshoes and dogs, and the latter had gone out yesterday and had not come back, though she had heard a single shot late in the afternoon.