“It will be too late, but save her—save her,” the old man begged. “I will,” called back the other between set teeth. Chinn was the next to drop out, and after him the one he called Husky. Both their horses had been abandoned a mile or two back, too exhausted to continue. Each of them Ridgway urged to stick to the trail and come on as fast as they could. He knew the horse he was riding could not much longer keep going with the double weight, and when at length its strength gave out completely he went on afoot, carrying her in his arms as on that eventful night when he had saved her from the blizzard. It was so the rescue-party found him, still staggering forward with her like a man in a sleep, flesh and blood and muscles all protestant against the cruelty of his indomitable will that urged them on in spite of themselves. In a dream he heard Yesler’s cheery voice, gave up his burden to one of the rescuers, and found himself being lifted to a fresh horse. From this dream he awakened to find himself before the great fire of the living-room of the ranch-house, wakened from it only long enough to know that somebody was undressing him and helping him into bed. Nature, with her instinct for renewing life, saw to it that Ridgway slept round the clock. He arose fit for anything. His body, hard as nails, suffered no reaction from the terrific strain he had put upon it, and he went down to his breakfast with an appetite ravenous for whatever good things Yesler’s Chinese cook might have prepared for him. He found his host already at work on a juicy steak. “Mornin’,” nodded that gentleman. “Hope you feel as good as you look.” “I’m all right, barring a little stiffness in my muscles. I’ll feel good as the wheat when I’ve got outside of the twin steak to that one you have.” Yesler touched a bell, whereupon a soft-footed Oriental appeared, turned almond eyes on his proprietor, took orders and padded silently back to his kingdom—the kitchen. Almost immediately he reappeared with a bowl of oatmeal and a pitcher of cream. “Go to it, Waring.” His host waved him the freedom of the diningroom, and Ridgway fell to. Never before had food tasted so good. He had been too sleepy to eat last night, but now he made amends. The steak, the muffins, the coffee, were all beyond praise, and when he came to the buckwheat hot cakes, sandwiched with butter and drenched with real maple syrup, his satisfied soul rose up and called Hop Lee blessed. When he had finished, Sam capped the climax by shoving toward him his case of Havanas. Ridgway’s eyes glistened. “I haven’t smoked for days,” he explained, and after the smoke had begun to rise, he added: “Ask what you will, even to the half of my kingdom, it’s yours.” “Or half of the Consolidated’s,” amended his friend with twinkling eyes. “Even so, Sam,” returned the other equably. “And now, tell me how you managed to round us all up safely.” “You’ve heard, then, that we got the whole party in time?”