Thus unceremoniously aroused from his trance-like slumber, John Madison, or what remained of him, lifted his head and painfully raised himself on one elbow. He was a pitiable-looking object. His hair, all dishevelled and matted, hung down over haggard-looking eyes; his cheeks were hollow from hunger, his ghastly pale face, livid from the cold, was covered with several weeks' growth of beard. From head to foot he was filthy and neglected from lack of the necessaries of life, and there was in his staring eyes a haunted, terrified look--the look of a man who has been face to face with death and yet lived to tell the tale. His remaining rags barely covered his emaciated, trembling frame. Shoes had gone long ago. His bleeding, frost-bitten feet were partly protected with coarse sacking tied with string. No one could have recognized in this human derelict the strapping specimen of proud manhood who six weeks before had said good-by to Laura and started out light-heartedly to conquer the world. Instead, the world had conquered him. Throwing off the blanket, he staggered to his feet. He felt sick and dizzy. Once he reeled and nearly fell. Twenty hours without food takes the backbone out of any man, and it was as bad as that, with no prospect of anything better. Weakly he stooped, and gathering up a little snow, put it in his mouth. Then his face winced with pain. The hunger pangs were there again. Stamping the ground and exercising his arms vigorously for a few moments, to get his blood in circulation, he turned, and, stooping down again to his couch, drew from under the roll of blanket that had served him for a pillow, a formidable-looking Colt six-shooter and a girl's photograph. The Colt he slipped between his rags; the picture he pressed to his lips. "God bless you, little one!" he murmured. His companion, who was busy bending over the fire, trying to coax it back to life, happened to look up. "Say, young feller!" he bellowed. "Cut out that mush, and lend a hand with this fire. Get some wood, and plenty--quick!" Madison made no retort. He was too weak to care. Besides, Bill was right. He had no business to think only of himself when they were both making a last stand for life itself. Hastily gathering an armful of small twigs, he threw them on the fire. As he watched the flames leap up, his mate still grumbled: "This ain't no time for foolin'. I should think yer'd try to get us out of this mess, instead of wastin' time mooning-over that picture." Madison stooped over the fire and warmed his frozen hands. Shivering, he said: "Bill--you don't know--how can you know?--what that picture means to me. It's all that's left to me. I never expect to see her again. I guess we'll both leave our carcasses here for the vultures to feed on. I can't go on much longer like this without food or shelter. I'm almost ready to cash in myself." The other doggedly bit on a piece of ice and said nothing. Madison continued: