Then she looked at Sewell. "Don't you know?" she said. "It's Tomlinson."
"Now," said Sewell, whose astonishment was evident, "I think I understand. There can scarcely be many girls capable of doing what you have done."
Hetty made a little sign of impatience. "Yes, there are—lots of them. Of course, you think all women are silly—you're only a man. Besides, Tom pinched me. But why are you stopping here and talking? Go and bring him."
Both Leger and Sewell went, and Tomlinson came back with them. He was haggard and ragged, and his thin jean garments were hard with the frozen snow-dust. He dropped into the nearest chair and blinked at them.
"Yes," he said, "I'm here and 'most starving. Get me something to eat, and I'll try to tell you."
They gave him what they had, and he ate ravenously, while Hetty's eyes softened as she watched him.
"You have had a hard time?" she said.
"Yes," answered the man slowly, "I guess I had. I got stuck up in the range. Couldn't make anything of the gorge in the loose snow. Tried to crawl up over the ice track and dropped through. Burst the pack-straps getting out, and don't know where most of the grub and one blanket went to. It was the bigger packet. That was why I had to come back. I don't quite know how I made the valley."
"When did you lose the grub?" asked Sewell.
Tomlinson shook his head. "I don't quite know," he said. "I guess it must have been 'most three weeks ago."