“‘Tis sweet to hear the watch-dogs’ honest bark
Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home,
’Tis sweet to know an eye will mark our coming,
And grow brighter when we come.”
“Getting sentimental, Tom, eh?” the sergeant queried.
“Why shouldn’t I?” was the retort. “It’s catching, I guess.”
The night was a hard one. The men took turns keeping the fire going, but they slept little, owing to the cold. Marion determined to take her share in watching, and the men did not oppose her wish. But when at last, through extreme weariness, she did fall asleep, North and Rolfe took off their short heavy coats, and laid them over her body, the same as they had done the night before. Upon waking, she had chided them for doing such a thing, and told them that they must not again run any risk for her sake. The men had merely smiled, and remained silent.
In the morning Marion felt very stiff and sore from the unaccustomed exertions of the previous day. She said nothing, however, as they started once more upon the trail. But she could not deceive the sergeant, and he felt greatly worried. He knew that she could not travel far that day, only a few miles at the most. Something had to be done, and he turned over in his mind the best course to pursue. For a time he could not decide, but when Rolfe began to limp painfully, owing to an attack of snow-shoe cramp, he hesitated no longer.
“Look here,” he began, “we shall never reach The Gap at the pace we are going, and now that Tom is knocked out, matters are worse than ever. You two must camp here while I go for assistance. I can reach
