"Car's busted," she said laconically. "Won't budge. I drained the water out of the radiator." "All right, we'll have to hoof it," he said cheerfully. He relieved her of the heavier wraps, and they set out silently through the snow, Prince still holding her hand. "I am awfully glad to see you," she said once, in a polite little voice. He smiled down upon her. "I am kind o' glad to see you, too, Connie." After a while she said slowly, "I need wings. My feet are numb." And a moment later, "I can not walk any farther." "It is ten miles to a house," he told her gravely. "I couldn't carry you so far. I'll take you a mile or so, and you will get rested." "I am not tired, I am cold. And if you carry me I will be colder. You just run along and tell Carol I am all right--" "Run along! Why, you would freeze." "Yes, that is what I mean." "There is a railroad track half a mile over there. Can you make that?" Connie looked at him pitifully. "I can not even lift my feet. I am utterly stuck. I kept stepping along," she mumbled indistinctly, "and saying, one more,--just one more,--one more,--but the foot would not come up,--and I knew I was stuck." Her voice trailed away, and she bundled against him and closed her eyes. Prince gritted his teeth and took her in his arms. Connie was five feet seven, and very solid. And Prince himself was nearly exhausted with the day's exertion. Sometimes he staggered and fell to his knees, sometimes he hardly knew if he was dragging Connie or pushing her, or if they were both blown along by the wind. Always there was the choke in his throat, the blur in his eyes, and that almost unbearable drag in every muscle. A freight train passed--only a few rods away. He thought he could never climb that bank. "One more--one--more--one more," mumbled Connie in his ear. He shook himself angrily. Of course he could make that bank,--if he could only rest a minute,--he was not cold,--just a minute's rest to get his breath again--a moment would be enough. God, what was he thinking of? It was not weariness, it was the chill of the night that demanded a moment's rest. He strained Connie closer in his arms and struggled up the bank. At the top, he dropped her beside the track, and fell with her. For a moment the fatal languor possessed him. A freight train rounded the curve and came puffing toward them. Prince, roused by springing hope, clambered to his feet, pulling the little pocket flash from his pocket. He waved it imploringly at the train, but it thundered by them. Resolutely bestirring himself, he carried Connie to a sheltered place where the wind could not strike her, and wrapped her as best he could in his coat and sweater. Then, lowering his head against the driving wind, he plunged down the track in the face of the storm. CHAPTER XXII HARBORAGE