“Heavens above!” he cried, “a woman’s voice!  And I can’t make a hundred yards with this foot of mine.”

He knew enough of blizzards to realize the extreme danger to any one caught in those blinding, whirling snow clouds.

“I can’t stay here, and I can’t make it with this foot, but—­yes—­By Jove!  Jacob can, though.”

He seized his saddle and struggled out into the storm.  Three paces from the door he fell headlong into a soft drift, wrenching his foot anew.  Choking, blinded, and almost fainting with the pain, he got to his feet once more and fought his way down the slope to where he knew his horse must be.

“Jacob!” he called, “where are you?”

The faithful broncho answered with a glad whinny.

“All right, old boy, I’ll get you.”

In a few minutes he was on the broncho’s back and off down the valley, feeling his way carefully among the trees and over stones and logs.  As he went on, he caught now and then Queen’s ringing bugle-note, and as often as he caught it he answered with a loud “Halloo!” It was with the utmost difficulty that he could keep Jacob’s head toward the storm.  Yard by yard he pressed his way against the gale, holding his direction by means of the flowing stream.  Nearer and nearer sounded the cry of the hound, till in answer to his shouting he heard a voice call loud and clear.  The valley grew wider, the timber more open, and his progress became more rapid.  Soon, through the drifting mass, he caught sight of two white moving figures.  The dogs bounded toward him.

“Hello there!” he called.  “Here you are; come this way.”

He urged forward his horse till he was nearly upon them.

“Oh, Kalman!  Kalman!  I knew it was you!”

In an instant he was off his horse and at her side.

“You!  You!” he shouted aloud above the howling gale.  “Marjorie!  Marjorie!” He had her in his arms, kissing her face madly, while sobbing, panting, laughing, she sank upon his breast.

“Oh, Kalman!  Kalman!” she gasped.  “You must stop!  You must stop!  Oh!  I am so glad!  You must stop!”

“God in Heaven!” shouted the man, boy no longer.  “Who can stop me?  How can I stop?  You might have died here in the snow!”

At a little distance the other figure was hanging to a tree, evidently near to exhaustion.

“Oh, Kalman, we were fair done when the dogs came, and then I wouldn’t stop, for I knew you were near.  But my! my! you were so long!”

The boy still held her in his arms.

“I say, young man, what the deuce are we going to do? 
I’m played out.  I cawn’t move a blawsted foot.”

The voice recalled Kalman from heaven to earth.  He turned to the speaker and made out Mr. Edgar Penny.

“Do!” cried Kalman.  “Why, make for my camp.  Come along. 
It’s up stream a little distance, and we can feel our way. 
Climb up, Marjorie.”