"Well, what are you doing, up? Did Harold—do you mean to say you built the fire yourself?"
"That's me, lady——"
"Then you must have your sight again——" The girl snatched aside the curtain and peered into his face.
"No such luck. Coals were still glowing; all I had to do was put in a piece of firewood. But I'm all well otherwise, as far as I can tell. How about you?"
The girl stretched up her arms. "A little stiff—Bill, I've certainly gained recuperative powers since I came up here. But, Heavens, I've had bad dreams. And now—I want you to tell me just how this blindness of yours—is going to affect our getting out."
It was a serious question, one to which Bill had already given much thought. "I don't see how it can affect us a great deal," he answered at last. "I realize you don't know one step of the way down to Bradleyburg, and I can't see the way; but Harold knows it perfectly. Of course if we had plenty of food the sensible thing to do would be to wait—till I get back my sight. But you know—we haven't scarcely any food at all. The last of the meat is gone, except one little piece of jerky. We've got a cup or two of flour and one or two cans. Of course there isn't enough to get down to the settlements on."
"Then we'll have to use the grizzly—after all?"
"Of course. Thank God we had him to fall back on. But even with him, I don't think we ought to wait till I get back my sight. We might have other delays, and perhaps another softening of the crust. It will be pretty annoying—traveling on grizzly flesh—and pretty awkward to have a blind man in the party, but—I'll be some good, anyway. Maybe I can cut fuel."
The girl was deeply touched. It was so characteristic of this man that even in his blindness he wished to make the difficulties of the journey just as light as possible for her.
"I won't let you do a thing," she told him. "Harold and I can do the work of camp."