"Wolf Cub! Wolf Cub! Where is she?"
He grasped the dog's collar. It was very dark beneath the trees. Wolf Cub led him forward for a few feet. He stumbled over a soft, huddled form. He rolled to his knees and pulled a blanket aside. Judith!—her head pillowed on her knees.
"Judith! Judith!" No reply. Doug put the blanket over her again and, with hands like frozen clods, jerked out his sheath ax and with infinite difficulty lopped off a cedar bough and got a fire to going. Sifting snow pellets, and the little wild mare's beautiful anxious eyes and drifted forelock, then that form beneath the blanket. Douglas heaped the fire high, then hurled the blanket away.
"Judith! Judith! Judith!" Sobbing, he crouched beside her, gathered her in his arms, laid her cold face in his breast, tried to enwrap her body with his.
"Judith! Judith!"
Wolf Cub whined in eager circles. Douglas laid his cheek against her lips. A faint warmth. He shook her, frantically, and beat her hands with his. Then he rose and balanced her on her feet. She hung limply in his arms. He huddled her before the fire again and forced some whiskey down her throat. He manipulated her inert body until when he lifted her again onto her feet she was able to stand. Still half in his arms. Then he forced her to stumble back and forth beside the fire.
"Judith! Judith! Judith!"
"It's you, Doug!" weakly and with bewildered eyes.
"O Jude, how could you! How could you!"
"Poor Buster—dead!" muttered Judith.
"I know! I found him. You must keep going, Judith. Lean on me but keep going."
But circulation was returning to her strong young
