And so, staggering and stumbling, they reached the foot of the landslip.  Here Kalman took the saddle off Jacob, turned him loose, and clambered up to the cave, followed by the others.  Mr. Penny sank to the ground and lay upon the cave floor like one dead.

“Well, here we are at last,” said Kalman, “thank God!”

“Yes, thank God!” said Marjorie softly, “and—­you, Kalman.”

She sank to her knees on the ground, and putting her face in her hands, burst into tears.

“What is it, Marjorie?” said Kalman, taking her hands down from her face.  “Are you hurt?  What is it?  I can’t bear to see you cry like that.”  But he didn’t kiss her.  The conventionalities were seizing upon him again.  His old shyness was stealing over his spirit.  “Tell me what to do,” he said.

“Do!” cried Marjorie through her sobs.  “What more can you do?  Oh, Kalman, you have saved me from an awful death!”

“Don’t speak of it,” said the boy with a shudder.  “Don’t I know it?  I can’t bear to think of it.  But are you all right?”

“Right?” said Marjorie briskly, wiping away her tears.  “Of course I’m all right, an’ sair hungry, tae.”

“Why, of course.  What a fool I am!” said Kalman.  “I’ll make you tea in a minute.”

“No, let me,” cried Marjorie.  “Your poor foot must be awful.  Where’s your teapot?  I’m a gran’ tea maker, ye ken.”  She was in one of her daft moods, as Aunt Janet would say.

Never was such tea as that which they had from the tin tea pail and from the one tin cup.  What though the blizzard howled its loudest in front of their cave?  What though the swirling snow threatened now and then to douse their fire?  What though the tea boiled over and the pork burned to a crisp?  What though a single bannock stood alone between them and starvation?  What cared they?  Heaven was about them, and its music was ringing in their hearts.

Refreshed by their tea, they sat before the blazing fire, all three, drying their soaked garments, while Mr. Penny and Marjorie recounted their experiences.  They had intended to make Wakota, but missed the trail.  The day was fine, however, and that gave them no concern till the storm came up, when suddenly they had lost all sense of direction and allowed their ponies to take them where they would.  With the instinct bred on the plains, the ponies had made for the shelter of the Night Hawk ravine.  Up the ravine they had struggled till the darkness and the thick woods had forced them to abandon the ponies.

“I wonder what the poor things will do?” interjected Marjorie.

“They’ll look after themselves, never fear,” said Kalman.  “They live out all winter here.”

Then through the drifts they had fought their way, till in the moment of their despair the dogs came upon them.

“We thought they were wolves,” cried Marjorie, “till one began to bay, and I knew it was the fox-hound.  And then I was sure that you would not be far away.  We followed the dogs for a while, and I kept calling and calling,—­poor Mr. Penny had lost his voice entirely,—­till you came and found us.”