"Got my leg in that crack. Damn--damned nuisance." Was he able to advise her? She looked at him, and then perceived she must bind up his head and face. She knelt behind him and raised his head on her knee. She had a thick silk neck muffler, and this she supplemented by a band she cut and tore from her inner vest. She bound this, still warm from her body, about him, wrapped her cloak round him. The next thing was a fire. Five yards away, perhaps, a great mass of purple gabbro hung over a patch of nearly snowless moss. A hummock to the westward offered shelter from the weakly bitter wind, the icy draught, that was soughing down the valley. Always in Labrador, if you can, you camp against a rock surface; it shelters you from the wind, reflects your fire, guards your back. "Rag!" she said. "Rotten hole," said Trafford. "What?" she cried sharply. "Got you in a rotten hole," he said. "Eh?" "Listen," she said, and shook his shoulder. "Look! I want to get you up against that rock." "Won't make much difference," said Trafford, and opened his eyes. "Where?" he asked. "There." He remained quite quiet for a second perhaps. "Listen to me," he said. "Go back to camp." "Yes," she said. "Go back to camp. Make a pack of all the strongest food--strenthin'--strengthrin' food--you know?" He seemed troubled to express himself. "Yes," she said. "Down the river. Down--down. Till you meet help." "Leave you?" He nodded his head and winced. "You're always plucky," he said. "Look facts in the face. Kiddies. Thought it over while you were coming." A tear oozed from his eye. "Not be a fool, Madge. Kiss me good-bye. Not be a fool. I'm done. Kids." She stared at him and her spirit was a luminous mist of tears. "You old _coward_," she said in his ear, and kissed the little patch of rough and bloody cheek beneath his eye. Then she knelt up beside him. "_I'm_ boss now, old man," she said. "I want to get you to that place there under the rock. If I drag, can you help?" He answered obstinately: "You'd better go." "I'll make you comfortable first," she answered, "anyhow." He made an enormous effort, and then with her quick help and with his back to her knee, had raised himself on his elbows. "And afterwards?" he asked. "Build a fire." "Wood?" "Down there." "Two bits of wood tied on my leg--splints. Then I can drag myself. See? Like a blessed old walrus." He smiled, and she kissed his bandaged face again. "Else it hurts," he apologized, "more than I can stand."