She must have fallen asleep there, for when she opened her eyes it was day.Underneath her was a lot of bedding he had found in the cabin, and tucked about her were the automobile rugs.For a moment her brain, still sodden with sleep, struggled helplessly with her surroundings.She looked at the smoky rafters without understanding, and her eyes searched the cabin wonderingly for her maid.When she remembered, her first thought was to look for the man.That he had gone, she saw with instinctive terror.
But not without leaving a message.She found his penciled note, weighted for security by a dollar, at the edge of the hearth.
"Gone on a foraging expedition.Back in an hour, Little Partner," was all it said.The other man also had promised to be back in an hour, and he had not come, but the strong chirography of the note, recalling the resolute strength of this man's face, brought content to her eyes.He had said he would come back.She rested secure in that pledge.
She went to the window and looked out over the great white wastes that rose tier on tier to the dull sky-line.She shuddered at the arctic desolation of the vast snow-fields.The mountains were sheeted with silence and purity.It seemed to the untaught child-woman that she was face to face with the Almighty.
Once during the night she had partially awakened to hear the roaring wind as it buffeted snow-clouds across the range.It had come tearing along the divide with the black storm in its vanguard, and she had heard fearfully the shrieks and screams of the battle as it raged up and down the gulches and sifted into them the deep drifts.
Half-asleep as she was, she had been afraid and had cried out with terror at this strange wakening; and he had been beside her in an instant.
"It's all right, partner.There's nothing to be afraid of," he had said cheerfully, taking her little hand in his big warm one.
Her fears had slipped away at once.Nestling down into her rug, she had smiled sleepily at him and fallen asleep with her cheek on her hand, her other hand still in his.
While she had been asleep the snow-tides had filled the gulch, hadrisen level with the top of the lower pane of the window.Nothing broke the smoothness of its flow save the one track he had made in breaking a way out.That he should have tried to find his way through such an untracked desolation amazed her.He could never do it.No puny human atom could fight successfully against the barriers nature had dropped so sullenly to fence them.They were set off from the world by a quarantine of God.There was something awful to her in the knowledge.It emphasized their impotence.Yet, this man had set himself to fight the inevitable.
With a little shudder she turned from the window to the cheerless room.The floor was dirty; unwashed dishes were piled upon the table.Here and there were scattered muddy boots and overalls, just as their owner, the prospector, had left them before he had gone to the nearest town to restock his exhausted supply of provisions.Disorder and dirt filled the rough cabin, or so it seemed to her fastidious eye.
The inspiration of the housewife seized her.She would surprise him on his return by opening the door to him upon a house swept and garnished.She would show him that she could be of some use even in such a primitive topsy-turvy world as this into which Fate had thrust her willy- nilly.
First, she carried red live coals on a shovel from the fireplace to the cook-stove, and piled kindling upon them till it lighted.It was a new experience to her.She knew nothing of housework; had never lit a fire in her life, except once when she had been one of a camping party.The smoke choked her before she had the lids back in their places, but despite her awkwardness, the girl went about her unaccustomed tasks with a light heart.It was for her new-found hero that she played at housekeeping.For his commendation she filled the tea-kettle, enveloped herself in a cloud of dust as she wielded the stub of a broom she discovered, and washed the greasy dishes after the water was hot.A childish pleasure suffused her.All her life her least whims had been ministered to; she was reveling in a first attempt at service.As she moved to and fro with an improvised dust-rag, sunshine filled her being.From her lips the joy notes fell in song, shaken from her throat for sheer happiness.This surely was life, that life fromwhich she had so carefully been hedged all the years of her young existence.
As he came down the trail he had broken, with a pack on his back, the man heard her birdlike carol in the clear frosty air.He emptied his chest in a deep shout, and she was instantly at the window, waving him a welcome with her dust-rag.
"I thought you were never coming," she cried from the open door as he came up the path.
Her eyes were starry in their eagerness.Every sensitive feature was alert with interest, so that the man thought he had never seen so mobile and attractive a face.
"Did it seem long?" he asked.
"Oh, weeks and weeks! You must be frozen to an icicle.Come in and get warm.""I'm as warm as toast," he assured her.
He was glowing with exercise and the sting of the cold, for he had tramped two miles through drifts from three to five feet deep, battling with them every step of the way, and carrying with him on the return trip a box of provisions.
"With all that snow on you and the pack on your back, it's like Santa Claus," she cried, clapping her hands.
"Before we're through with the adventure we may think that box a sure enough gift from Santa," he replied.
After he had put it down, he took off his overcoat on the threshold and shook the snow from it.Then, with much feet stamping and scattering of snow, he came in.She fluttered about him, dragging a chair up to the fire for him, and taking his hat and gloves.It amused and pleased him that she should be so solicitous, and he surrendered himself to her ministrations.
