It was nearer and louder than before. Haig straightened up, and again filled the tumultuous air with hoarse cries. Once more the voice came; and then out of the white chaos at the right of the cave, almost level with the platform, a dark form appeared, striding forward with a peculiar swinging motion, clumsily but sure. Haig uttered one more call that dribbled into a sobbing cry. "All--right!" answered the figure, in a smothered tone. Huge, hunchbacked and cumbersome, the figure shuffled up the slight slope between the level of the snow and the snowy platform, and halted. A mittened hand went up to its head, and brushed the snow from the face. "Pete!" cried Haig. He attempted to move forward, stumbled, lunged toward the Indian, and collapsed in his arms. Pete, holding him, looked around until he saw the opening of the cave, and fairly carried Haig inside. For a few seconds, seeing nothing in the sudden change from the dazzling whiteness of the snow to the dim red light of the cavern, Pete stood still. Then Haig stiffened, stood erect, and pushed the Indian from him. "There! Look!" he gasped, pointing to where Marion lay, wild-eyed on the bed, wrapped in her blankets. Then he sank down on the floor, with his back against the wall, and gave himself up to dizziness and exhaustion. Pete quickly removed his thick mittens, unstrapped the bundle that rested on his back, and took off the snowshoes that had caused his approach over the snow to appear so like a lumbering animal's. Flinging all these on the floor, he went swiftly to Marion's side, and knelt there. "Sick?" he asked. She did not answer, but stared at him, and smiled. "Listen!" she whispered. "Somebody--coming!" Pete stood up, and looked at Haig. "How long like this?" he asked. "I forget. Three or four days." "You well?" "Yes," Haig answered weakly. Pete came closer, and pointed to the leg that Haig kept thrust stiffly out before him. "Broke?" "Yes." "How long?" "Six weeks." The Indian asked no more questions just then, but hastened to open his pack. First he found a bottle of whisky, and made Haig take a long drink. Pete believed in two remedies for all human ills. He had a brew of herbs that he had inherited from his tribal ancestors, his sole inheritance besides his iron body. This brew was good for fevers; and whisky was good for everything else. Having doctored Haig with the whisky, he now turned to Marion with the brew. From a flask he poured some of the dark brown liquid into a cup, let it come just to a boil among the embers of the fire, and when it had cooled a little placed it to Marion's lips. It was bitter, and she tried to draw away from it, but Pete forced her gently to drain the cup. Whatever the brew might be worth, the whisky certainly was efficacious. Haig sat erect, and began hurling questions at the Indian. "How did you get in here--in God's name?" was the first. "Black Lake country." "But how did you get in there?" "Simpson's Pass."