She had nearly fainted; but another hour of this poisonous incarceration and she would never recover. He dare not attempt to get to the fresher air. Outside it was certain death, and any moment might assist the wind in carrying out the task it seemed so determined to perform.... A piercing wind suddenly entered, and the whole mass quivered. He realized that the worst was about to happen—the snow was moving. Before he could fix on his mittens the snow and its two inmates were flung like a rifle-shot across the ice. There was a thundering roar, and the whole pile broke into a myriad parts. Still clasping the unconscious Angela, he went helter-skelter before the blast, pitching and sliding on the ice. The power to think was leaving him. Brain and body seemed numbed and out of action. He was only conscious that he held 193 in his arms the thing from which not even this murderous wind could sever him. He calmly waited for the end—the dreamy, painless end that freezing death would bring....
Then he suddenly gave vent to a choking cry of joy. The wind had suddenly, marvelously vanished. He heard it howling its way across the land to the South. He dragged himself from the ice and looked back. The Aurora was flashing again and the sky was clear. The strange Arctic light was settling down on the scene, turning the snow-clad waste into mysterious colors. He rubbed his frost-bitten hands vigorously with snow and hurried up the river with Angela clasped in his arms.
He found the sled overturned, some distance from where he had left it, and hurriedly rigged up the tent on a suitable place on the bank. In a few minutes he had Angela inside, on a pile of blankets, and was forcing brandy between her lips. Seeing that she was reviving, he lit the oil stove and went to round up the dog-team.
When he returned Angela was boiling the kettle on top of the stove. She handed him a cup of cocoa in silence. He took it without attempting 194 to drink it. Her extraordinary recovery amazed him.
“Is it all over?” she queried ultimately.
“Yep,” he gasped. “But it sure did blow some.”
“Yes—it’s a good job we were inside the snow-drift,” she replied indifferently.
He put down the mug of cocoa that he had taken up. Of all bewildering things this was the most bewildering. She was acting again—acting in her own subtle fashion. He came to the conclusion that women were beyond his comprehension—and Angela most of all.
On the next morning the temperature was moderately high. They left the river and found a good trail along the bank. Angela asked no questions regarding his destination. She had got beyond caring very much now. She determined to adopt an attitude of cold indifference.