As the team turned to the south the air seemed a little less savage, but Blanche still writhed with pain. Her hands suffered most; her feet had grown numb.
"We'll be there in a few minutes," Rivers cheerily repeated, but he began to understand her desperate condition.
A quarter of an hour later his team drew up before the door of the ranch-house. It seemed deliciously warm in the lee of the long walls.
"Well, here we are. Now we'll go in and get warm."
"What if Mr. Bailey is there?" she stammered, with stiff lips.
"No matter, you must not freeze."
He shouted, "Hello, Bailey!" There was no reply, and he leaped out. "Come, you must go in." He took her in his arms and carried her into the room, dim, yet gloriously warm by contrast with the outside air. "Feels good here, doesn't it? Now, while I roll up some blankets, you warm—We must be quick. I'll find you some overshoes."
Blanche staggered on her numb feet, which felt like clods. She was weak with cold, and everything grew dark before her.
"Oh, Jim, I can't go on. I'll freeze. I'll die—I know I shall. My feet are frozen solid."
He dragged a chair to the hearth of the stove, in which a coal fire lay. His action was bold and confident.