This pleading tone puzzled him, but he promised; and, hitching up his thin, old horses, drove around to the door of the shanty. Blanche came out, dressed to go with him, but when she felt the edge of the wind she shrank. Her lips turned blue and she cowered back against the side of the cabin, holding her shawl like a shield before her bosom. "I can't do it! It's too cold! I'd freeze to death. You'll have to go alone."
Burke was relieved. "Yes, you'd better stay," he said, and drove off.
Blanche crept back into the shanty and bent above the stove, shivering violently. She drew a long breath now and then like a grieving child. Life was over for her. She had reached the point where nothing mattered. She sat there until the sound of bells aroused her. "It's Jim!" she called, and rose to her feet, her face radiant with relief. Rivers came rushing up to the door in a two-horse sleigh and leaped out with a shout of greeting, though he could not see her at the frosted window.
A moment later he burst in, vigorous, smiling, defiant of the cold.
"Hello! All alone? How are you?"
A quick warmth ran through her chilled limbs, and she lifted her hands to him.
"Oh, Jim, I'm so glad you came!"
"Keep away—I'm all snow," he warningly called, as he threw off his cap and buffalo coat. "Now come to me," he said, and took her in his arms. "How are you, sweetheart? I can't kiss you—my mustache is all ice. Where's Burke?"
"Gone to Craig's."
He winked jovially while pulling the icicles from his long mustache.