For a moment after Bone and Lufkins joined him at the spot, the blacksmith stood looking at the half-buried three.  The whole tale of struggle with the chill, of toiling onward through the heavy snow, of falling over hidden shrubs, of battling for their lives, was somehow revealed to the silent men by the haggard, death-white face of Jim.

“They can’t—­be dead,” said the smith, in a broken voice.  “He—­couldn’t, and—­us all—­his friends.”

But when he knelt and pushed away some of the snow, the others thought his heart had lost all hope.

It was Field, however, who thought to feel for a pulse.  The eager searchers from farther away had come to the place.  A dozen pair of eyes or more were focussed on the man as he held his breath and felt for a sign of life.

“Alive!—­He’s alive!” he cried, excitedly.  “And little Skeezucks, too!  For God’s sake, boys, let’s get them back to camp!”

In a leap of gladness the men let out a mighty cheer.  From every saddle a rolled-up blanket was swiftly cut, and rough but tender hands swept off the snow that clung to the forms of the miner, the child, and the pup.

CHAPTER XXII

CLEANING THEIR SLATE

Never could castle or mansion contain more of gladness and joy of the heart than was crowded into the modest little home of Miss Doc when at last the prayers and ministrations of a score of men and the one “decent” woman of the camp were rewarded by the Father all-pitiful.

“I’m goin’ to bawl, and I’ll lick any feller that calls me a baby!” said the blacksmith, but he laughed and “bawled” together.

They had saved them all, but a mighty quiet Jim and a quieter little Skeezucks and a wholly subdued little pup lay helpless still in the care of the awkward squad of nurses.

And then a council of citizens got together at the dingy shop of Webber for a talk.  “We mustn’t fergit,” said the smith, “that Jim was a takin’ the poor little feller to Fremont ’cause he thought he was pinin’ away fer children’s company; and I guess Jim knowed.  Now, the question is, what we goin’ for to do?  Little Skeezucks ain’t a goin’ to be no livelier unless he gits that company—­and maybe he’ll up and die of loneliness, after all.  Do you fellers think we’d ought to git up a party and take ’em all to Fremont, as soon as they’re able to stand the trip?”

Bone, the bar-keep answered:  “What’s the matter with gittin’ the preacher and his wife and three little gals to come back here and settle in Borealis?  I’m goin’ in for minin’, after a while, myself, and I’ll—­and I’ll give my saloon from eight to two on Sundays to be fixed all up fer a church; and I reckon we kin support Parson Stowe as slick as any town in all Navady.”

For a moment this astonishing speech was followed by absolute silence.  Then, as if with one accord, the men all cheered in admiration.