warming his hands an instant beside the fireplace. The fire needed fuel. It had evidently been neglected for nearly an hour.
Then he called Snowbird. His voice echoed in the silent room, unanswered. He called again, then went to look for her. At the door of the dining room he found the note that she had left for him.
It told, very simply and plainly, that her father lay injured in his bed, and he was to remain and do what he could for him. She had gone for help to the ranger station.
He leaped through the rooms to Lennox's door, then went in on tiptoe. And the first thing he saw when he opened the door was the grizzled man's gray face on the pillow.
"You 're home early, Dan," he said. "How many did you get?"
It was entirely characteristic. Shaggy old Woof is too proud to howl over the wounds that lay him low, and this gray old bear on the bed had partaken of his spirit.
"Good Lord," Dan answered. "How badly are you hurt?"
"Not so bad but that I'm sorry that Snowbird has gone drifting twelve miles over the hills for help. It's dark as pitch."
And it was. Dan could scarcely make out the outline of the somber ridges against the sky.
