"Oh, the colonel!" she exclaimed. "He—lived?"
Dexter nodded without speaking. The girl eyed him for a moment from under drooping lashes, and then quietly set about the preparations for breaking camp. No word was spoken of her promise of the night before, but it was tacitly understood between them that where he went, she had pledged herself to go.
They gathered up their scanty belongings, and the corporal forced himself to do his share of the work. He insisted on shouldering the larger pack, and after stamping out the fire, he led the way through the thicket and started on his northward journey.
In his present physical condition Dexter knew he could not hope to make the return trip in one, or even two, days; but he struck forward resolutely, intending to travel as far as he could while his strength lasted. It was a warm, almost sultry afternoon, and the snow was turning to water under the burning sun and running off the mountain slopes in thousands of trickling rivulets. The corporal's back-leading trail along the creek was waist-deep in slush and he was forced to search out new paths, across the higher shoulders of the mountain.
It was slippery, dangerous going at times, requiring the corporal's strictest attention in seeking the pathway ahead. For the most part they picked their way forward in silence, but now and then they would strike an easier stretch, and he was able to exchange a word or two with his companion as she trudged at his heels.
"What became of you that day last fall?" he asked her, while they were pushing across a level strip of ground. "I had misgivings about you all winter—fearing you might not have come through the storm."
"I went down through the valley, and crossed eastward into a frightful tangle of wilderness," she said. "I don't know how I lived through that night and the next. But I found a nook of shelter under the roots of a great tree, and in some way or another I built a fire and huddled over it. I stayed there, half frozen, with very little to eat, until the storm stopped. After that I started out, trying to find my brother. I was lost—didn't know which direction to go. I just had to guess, and, well—some guiding power must have helped me. There was not one chance in a thousand of my reaching any place, and yet, after a two days' struggle, I crossed over a wooded ridge, dragged myself up a snow-buried stream, and walked right into the cabin I was searching for—the place where you had left my brother the first day of the storm. I was about dead—fell on the doorsill. But Archie was there, and he heard me and carried me in. He was nearly frantic, not knowing what had become of me. He was unable to travel; could only wait, hoping for news."
"I don't mind admitting that I was a bit worried about you myself," remarked Dexter, glancing at her across his shoulder. "I wonder that you weren't frozen to death."
"I almost was," she said, and smiled vaguely as she met his eyes. "But I guess I'm about as hard to kill as you are."
"You and your brother spent the winter in that cabin?" he asked.