touched Marion’s body. He had not lost her, but what had happened to her during that wild catapulting down the hillside? Perhaps she was badly injured. Weak though he was, he caught her in his arms, and lifted her partly from the snow which entangled her.
“Marion! Marion! are you hurt?” he asked.
Receiving no reply, a great fear swept over him. Was she dead! He put his ear close to her face and listened. She was breathing, but so low that he could hardly detect it. Then he straightened up, and looked anxiously around. What was he to do? How far had they been swept in the wild rush? The moon had already risen, so he could dimly see the great scar left by the snow-slide. It had plowed its way down through the forest, and broken trees lined the path the monster had taken. He shuddered as he thought of their narrow escape. But where was Rolfe? Had he been carried down to destruction? The idea was terrible. But he had no time now to spend upon vain lamentations. Marion needed assistance, and at once. It was no use, he well knew, to go back to the trail. Their camp had gone, so he might as well stay where he was. Looking around, he saw several dead trees. From these he broke off a number of dry branches, and brushing away the snow from the roots of a big fir, he lighted a fire. Scraping back more snow, he cut some boughs with his big pocket-knife, and then spread them near the cheerful blaze. Here he carried Marion and laid her tenderly down. He could see her face plainly now, and it was very white. How still she was! Again he stooped and listened. Then he kissed her, calling to her, and begging her to speak to him.
In a few minutes he had his reward, for with a
