Wherefore the heavy little bag of coins remained where Webber had placed it.

There were sober words of caution and advice, modest requests for a line now and then, and many an evidence of the hold old Jim had secured on their hearts before the miner finally received the grave and carefully bundled little Carson from the arms of Miss Doc and came to the gate to mount his horse and ride away.

“Jest buckle this strap around me and the little boy,” instructed Jim, as he gave a wide leather belt to the teamster; “then if I happen for to need both hands, he won’t be able to git a fall.”

The strap was adjusted about the two in the manner suggested.

“Good scheme,” commented Field, and the others agreed that it was.

Then all the rough and awkward big fellows soberly shook the pretty little pilgrim’s hand in its mitten, and said good-bye to the tiny chap, who was clinging, as always, to his doll.

“What you goin’ to do with Tinterretter?” inquired the teamster as he looked at the pup, while Jim, with an active swing, mounted to the saddle.

“Take him along,” said Jim.  “I’ll put him in the sack I’ve got, and tie him on behind the saddle when he gits too much of runnin’ on foot.  He wouldn’t like it to be left behind and Skeezucks gone.”

“Guess that’s kerrect,” agreed the teamster.  “He’s a bully pup, you bet.”

Poor Miss Doc remained inside the gate.  Her one mad impulse was to run to Jim, clasp him and the grave little waif in her arms, and beg to be taken on the horse.  But repression had long been her habit of life.  She smiled, and did not even speak, though the eyes of the fond little pilgrim were turned upon her in baby affection.

“Well—­you’ll git there all right,” said the blacksmith, voicing the hope that swelled in his heart.  “So long, and let us know how the little feller makes it with the children.”

“By jinks!—­so long,” said Keno, striving tremendously to keep down his rising emotions.  “So long.  I’ll stay by the claim.”

“And give our love to them three little gals,” said Bone.  “So long.”

One after another they wrung the big, rough hand, and said “So long” in their easy way.

“Bye, Miss Doc,” said Jim, at the last.  “Skeezucks—­say good-bye—­to Miss Doc—­and all the boys.  Say good-bye.”

The little fellow had heard “good-bye” when the three little caps of red departed.  It came as a word that hurt his tiny heart.  But, obediently, he looked about at all his friends.

“Dood-bye,” he said, in baby accents.  “Dood-bye.”

CHAPTER XX

IN THE TOILS OF THE BLIZZARD

Something was tugged and wrenched mighty hard as Jim rode finally around the hill, and so out of sight of the meagre little camp he called his home, but resolution was strong within him.  Up and up through the narrow canon, winding tortuously towards the summit, like the trail of a most prodigious serpent channelled in the snow, the horse slowly climbed, with Tintoretto, the joyous, busily visiting each and every portion of the road, behind, before, and at the sides.