“Away back on the fringe of the wood. The dogs came home with the sled and I followed the tracks till I found you. I—I thought you were dead.”
“And you carried me here?” 239
“I unpacked the sled and went back with it. I managed to get you on to it—the dogs did the rest.”
He gave a low sigh.
“I’ll soon be up and about again.”
“I don’t think you will. You are terribly weak—and look so ill.”
He laughed weakly.
“I ain’t much of an invalid. You’ll see.”
She did see. His recovery was amazingly rapid. He seemed to change hourly, making new flesh at an astonishing pace. His iron constitution performed miracles of transformation. In three days, despite argument, he was out of bed. On the tenth day he shouldered the shovel and the washing pan and went out to a small creek to hunt the elusive gold. But failure still dogged him. He flung down the shovel and devoted hours to thinking over the position. When the pale sun began to sink behind the multicolored peaks he came to a decision and tramped back to the shack. A meal was awaiting him, spread on a clean white cloth. He noticed that the knives had been cleaned, and that a bowl of water was heated ready for a wash, which he 240 badly needed. It was a pleasant but astonishing change. For the first time it brought a real sense of “home.” He half regretted the decision made but an hour before, but he meant to go through with it, hurt how it might.
“Angela,” he said. “We’re packing up to-morrow.”