beside the head was a dark spot in the snow.
A moment later she had dismounted and was standing within the rickety hut, looking down upon another shadowy form that moved and spoke.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
"Not much. I believe I have sprained my ankle. But the poor nag is done for," he added sorrowfully.
"Which foot have you hurt?"
"The right one."
"That's good. Then you can ride side-saddle. Are you sure that is all?"
He was already consuming brandy and biscuit at a rate to dissipate all immediate anxiety.
"Yes; and I declare it's worth it!" he cried with enthusiasm; a statement which, if slightly ambiguous, conveyed a cheerful impression.
"Did the fall kill the horse?" Amy asked, with a little quiver in her voice, of pity for the poor beast.
"No; I thought it best to cut an artery for him. Poor boy! He floundered terribly before he went down."
"What threw him?"
"Something in the way of a branch or a piece of timber. Lucky it happened where it
