“Very well,” said Jack, “then there's no time to be lost; unhitch your horses and we'll dig a hole in that bank for them to stand in out of the snow.” This was speedily done. “Now,” continued Jack, “you'll just follow me up to my cabin; it's a pretty tough climb, but I'll want your help to bring down the runners.” Here the man who seemed to be the head of the party--of middle age and a superior, professional type--for the first time hesitated. “I forgot to say that there is a lady with us,--my daughter,” he began, glancing towards the wagon. “I reckoned as much,” interrupted Jack simply, “and I allowed to carry her up myself the roughest part of the way. She kin make herself warm and comf'ble in the cabin until we've got the runners ready.” “You hear what our friend says, Amy?” suggested the gentleman, appealingly, to the closed leather curtains of the wagon. There was a pause. The curtain was suddenly drawn aside, and a charming little head and shoulders, furred to the throat and topped with a bewitching velvet cap, were thrust out. In the obscurity little could be seen of the girl's features, but there was a certain willfulness and impatience in her attitude. Being in the shadow, she had the advantage of the others, particularly of Jack, as his figure was fully revealed in the moonlight against the snowbank. Her eyes rested for a moment on his high boots, his heavy mustache, so long as to mingle with the unkempt locks which fell over his broad shoulders, on his huge red hands streaked with black grease from the wagon wheels, and some blood, stanched with snow, drawn from bruises in cutting out brambles in the brush; on--more awful than all--a monstrous, shiny “specimen” gold ring encircling one of his fingers,--on the whiskey bottle that shamelessly bulged from his side pocket, and then--slowly dropped her dissatisfied eyelids. “Why can't I stay HERE?” she said languidly. “It's quite nice and comfortable.” “Because we can't leave you alone, and we must go with this gentleman to help him.” Miss Amy let the tail of her eye again creep shudderingly over this impossible Jack. “I thought the--the gentleman was going to help US,” she said dryly. “Nonsense, Amy, you don't understand,” said her father impatiently. “This gentleman is kind enough to offer to make some sledge-runners for us at his cabin, and we must help him.” “But I can stay here while you go. I'm not afraid.” “Yes, but you're ALONE here, and something might happen.” “Nothing could happen,” interrupted Jack, quickly and cheerfully. He had flushed at first, but he was now considering that the carrying of a lady as expensively attired and apparently as delicate and particular as this one might be somewhat difficult. “There's nothin' that would hurt ye here,” he continued, addressing the velvet cap and furred throat in the darkness, “and if there was it couldn't get at ye, bein', so to speak, in the same sort o' fix as you. So you're all right,” he added positively.