“Do be quiet and go on,” she said.  “Tommy is waiting.  I hope the sun takes the skin all off your back,” she panted vindictively, as they slid the canoe down the last shelf and dropped it into the water.

Ten minutes later they climbed the ice-wall, and on and up the bank, which was partly a hillside, to where the signal of distress still fluttered.  Beneath it, on the ground, lay stretched the man.  He lay very quietly, and the fear that they were too late was upon them, when he moved his head slightly and moaned.  His rough clothes were in rags, and the black, bruised flesh of his feet showed through the remnants of his moccasins.  His body was thin and gaunt, without flesh-pads or muscles, while the bones seemed ready to break through the tight-stretched skin.  As Corliss felt his pulse, his eyes fluttered open and stared glassily.  Frona shuddered.

“Man, it’s fair gruesome,” McPherson muttered, running his hand up a shrunken arm.

“You go on to the canoe, Frona,” Corliss said.  “Tommy and I will carry him down.”

But her lips set firmly.  Though the descent was made easier by her aid, the man was well shaken by the time they laid him in the bottom of the canoe,—­so well shaken that some last shreds of consciousness were aroused.  He opened his eyes and whispered hoarsely, “Jacob Welse . . . despatches . . . from the Outside.”  He plucked feebly at his open shirt, and across his emaciated chest they saw the leather strap, to which, doubtless, the despatch-pouch was slung.

At either end of the canoe there was room to spare, but amidships Corliss was forced to paddle with the man between his knees.  La Bijou swung out blithely from the bank.  It was down-stream at last, and there was little need for exertion.

Vance’s arms and shoulders and back, a bright scarlet, caught Frona’s attention.  “My hopes are realized,” she exulted, reaching out and softly stroking a burning arm.  “We shall have to put cold cream on it when we get back.”

“Go ahead,” he encouraged.  “That feels awfully good.”

She splashed his hot back with a handful of the ice-cold water from over-side.  He caught his breath with a gasp, and shivered.  Tommy turned about to look at them.

“It’s a guid deed we’ll ’a doon this day,” he remarked, pleasantly.  “To gie a hand in distress is guid i’ the sight of God.”

“Who’s afeared ?” Frona laughed.

“Weel,” he deliberated, “I was a bit fashed, no doot, but—­”

His utterance ceased, and he seemed suddenly to petrify.  His eyes fixed themselves in a terrible stare over Frona’s shoulder.  And then, slowly and dreamily, with the solemnity fitting an invocation of Deity, murmured, “Guid Gawd Almichty!”

They whirled their heads about.  A wall of ice was sweeping round the bend, and even as they looked the right-hand flank, unable to compass the curve, struck the further shore and flung up a ridge of heaving mountains.