“It was no more than a man should do; but as to taking him at his word, why, that's another question.” The colonel paused and gustily cleared his throat. “They were up against it right then and there, and the party split upon it. Three of them went on,--for help, as they put it,--and Paul stayed behind with the wounded man.” “Paul stayed--alone?” Mrs. Bogardus uttered with hoarse emphasis. “Was not that a very strange way to divide? Among them all, I should think they might have brought the man out with them.” “Their story is that his injuries were such that he could not have borne the pain of the journey. Rather an unusual case,” the colonel added dryly. “In my experience, a wounded man will stand anything sooner than be left on the field.” “I cannot understand it,” Mrs. Bogardus repeated, in a voice of indignant pain. “Such a strange division! One man left alone--to nurse, and hunt, and cook, and keep up fires! Suppose the guide should die!” “Paul was not _left_, you know,” the colonel said emphatically. “He _stayed_. And I should be thankful in your place, madam, that my son was the man who made that choice. But setting conduct aside, for we are not prepared to judge, it is merely a matter of time our getting in there, now that we know where he is.” “How much time?” Mrs. Bogardus opened her ashen lips to say. The colonel's face fell. “Mr. Winslow reports heavy snows for the past week,--soft, clogging snow,--too deep to wade through and too soft to bear. A little later, when the cold has formed a crust, our men can get in on snowshoes. There is nothing for it but patience, Mrs. Bogardus, and faith in the boy's endurance. The pluck that made him stay behind will help him to hold out.” Moya gave a hurt sob; the colonel stepped to the desk and stood there a moment turning over his papers. Behind his back the mother sent a glance to Moya expressive of despair. “Do you know what happened to his father? Did he ever tell you?” she whispered. Moya assented; she could not speak. “Twice, twice in a lifetime!” said the older woman. With a gesture, Moya protested against this wild prophecy; but as Paul's mother left the room she rushed upon her father, crying: “Tell _me_ the truth! What do you think of it? Did you ever hear of such a dastardly thing?” “It was a rout,” said the colonel coolly. “They were in full flight before the enemy.” “What enemy? They deserted a wounded comrade, and a servant at that!” “The enemy was panic,--panic, my dear. In these woods I've seen strong men go half beside themselves with fear of something--the Lord knows what! Then, add the winter and what they had seen and heard of that. Anyway, you can afford to be easy on the other boys. The honors of the day are with Paul--and the old packer, though it's all in the day's work to him.” “And you are satisfied with Paul, father?” “He didn't desert his command to save his own skin.” The colonel smiled grimly.