Dan lifted the red curtain from the cupboard, found an emptied lard-pail, half filled it with water and placed it on an oil-stove that stood in the center of the room. He looked questioningly about the four walls, discovered a cleverly contrived tool-box beneath the cupboard shelves, sorted out a pair of pincers and bits of iron, laying the latter in a row over the oil blaze. He took down a can of condensed milk, poured a spoonful of the thick stuff into a cup of water and made room for it near the bits of heating iron. He turned to the girl, opened his lips as if to speak and stood with a face full of pity. Along the four-foot space between the end of the bed and the opposite wall the girl walked, crooning to the sick child she carried. As they watched, the low song died away, her shoulder rubbed heavily against the boarding, her eyelids dropped and she stood sound asleep. The next hard-drawn breath of the baby roused her and she stumbled on, crooning a lullaby. Smith clutched the younger man's shoulder. "God, Hillas, look where she's marked the wall rubbing against it! Do you suppose she's been walking that way for three days and nights? Why, she's only a child--no older than my own daughter!" Hillas nodded. "Where are her people? Where's her husband?" "Down in Yankton, Dan told you, working for the winter. Got to have the money to live." "Where's the doctor?" "Nearest one's in Haney--four days' trip away by stage." The traveller stared, frowningly. Dan was looking about the room again and after prodding the gay seat in the corner, lifted the cover and picked up a folded blanket, shaking out the erstwhile padded cushion. He hung the blanket over the back of a chair. "Mis' Clark, there's nothing but steam will touch membreenous croup. We saved my baby that way last year. Set here and I'll fix things." He put the steaming lard-pail on the floor beside the mother and lifted the blanket over the baby's head. She put up her hand. "She's so little, Dan, and weak. How am I going to know if she--if she--" Dan rearranged the blanket tent. "Jest get under with her yourself, Mis' Clark, then you'll know all that's happening." With the pincers he picked up a bit of hot iron and dropped it hissing into the pail, which he pushed beneath the tent. The room was oppressively quiet, walled in by the thick sod from the storm. The blanket muffled the sound of the child's breathing and the girl no longer stumbled against the wall. Dan lifted the corner of the blanket and another bit of iron hissed as it struck the water. The older man leaned toward the younger. "Stove--fire?" with a gesture of protest against the inadequate oil blaze. Hillas whispered, "Can't afford it. Coal is $9.00 in Haney, $18.00 here."