Hillas nodded.

“Where are her people?  Where’s her husband?”

“Down in Yankton, Dan told you, working for the winter.  Got to have the money to live.”

“Where’s the doctor?”

“Nearest one’s in Haney—­four days’ trip away by stage.”

The traveller stared, frowningly.

Dan was looking about the room again and after prodding the gay seat in the corner, lifted the cover and picked up a folded blanket, shaking out the erstwhile padded cushion.  He hung the blanket over the back of a chair.

“Mis’ Clark, there’s nothing but steam will touch membreenous croup.  We saved my baby that way last year.  Set here and I’ll fix things.”

He put the steaming lard-pail on the floor beside the mother and lifted the blanket over the baby’s head.  She put up her hand.

“She’s so little, Dan, and weak.  How am I going to know if she—­if she—­”

Dan rearranged the blanket tent.  “Jest get under with her yourself, Mis’ Clark, then you’ll know all that’s happening.”

With the pincers he picked up a bit of hot iron and dropped it hissing into the pail, which he pushed beneath the tent.  The room was oppressively quiet, walled in by the thick sod from the storm.  The blanket muffled the sound of the child’s breathing and the girl no longer stumbled against the wall.

Dan lifted the corner of the blanket and another bit of iron hissed as it struck the water.  The older man leaned toward the younger.

“Stove—­fire?” with a gesture of protest against the inadequate oil blaze.

Hillas whispered, “Can’t afford it.  Coal is $9.00 in Haney, $18.00 here.”

They sat with heads thrust forward, listening in the intolerable silence.  Dan lifted the blanket, hearkened a moment, then—­“pst!” another bit of iron fell into the pail.  Dan stooped to the tool-chest for a reserve supply when a strangling cough made him spring to his feet and hurriedly lift the blanket.

The child was beating the air with tiny fists, fighting for breath.  The mother stood rigid, arms out.

“Turn her this way!” Dan shifted the struggling child, face out.  “Now watch out for the—­”

The strangling cough broke and a horrible something—­“It’s the membrane!  She’s too weak—­let me have her!”

Dan snatched the child and turned it face downward.  The blue-faced baby fought in a supreme effort—­again the horrible something—­then Dan laid the child, white and motionless, in her mother’s arms.  She held the limp body close, her eyes wide with fear.

“Dan, is—­is she—?”

A faint sobbing breath of relief fluttered the pale lips that moved in the merest ghost of a smile.  The heavy eyelids half-lifted and the child nestled against its mother’s breast.  The girl swayed, shaking with sobs, “Baby—­baby!”

She struggled for self-control and stood up straight and pale.  “Dan, I ought to tell you.  When it began to get dark with the storm and time to put up the lantern, I was afraid to leave the baby.  If she strangled when I was gone—­with no one to help her—­she would die!”