There was no response. The gale shrieked about the building, flinging the snow against it in clouds, and he realized that any noise he made was not likely to be heard. He fumbled for a latch, and found a knob which his numbed fingers failed to turn. Then in a fury he struck the door again, each blow growing feebler than the last, until the cold overcame him and he slipped down into the snow. He could not get up; even the desire to do so grew fainter, and he sank into oblivion.
It did not last, however, and the return to consciousness was agonizing. A strong light shone about him, though he could see nothing clearly, and he felt as if a boiling fluid were trying to creep through his half-frozen limbs; his hands and feet, in particular, tingled beyond endurance, which, had he known it, was a favorable sign. Then somebody gave him a hot drink and he heard voices which he vaguely recognized, though he could not tell to whom they belonged. A little later, he was lifted up and carried into a different room, where somebody laid him down and wrapped clothing about him. The tingling pain passed away, he felt delightfully warm, and that was all that he was conscious of as he sank into heavy slumber.
It was daylight when he awakened, clear-headed and comfortable, and recognized the room as the one he had previously occupied in Prescott’s house. It was obvious that he had slept for twelve or fourteen hours; and seeing his clothes laid out, dry, upon a chair, he got up and dressed. Then he went down to the living-room, where Prescott rose as he came in.
“You don’t look much the worse,” the rancher said. “You had a fortunate escape.”
“How did I get here?” Jernyngham asked, leaning on the back of a chair, for he felt shaky still.
“That’s more than I can tell. Svendsen found you outside the door when he tried to get across to the stable. You couldn’t have been there long: a few minutes, I guess, though we didn’t hear you. Do your feet and hands feel right?”
Jernyngham was glad that his host made no inquiries as to what had brought him into the neighborhood.
“Thank you, yes,” he said. “I must assure you that I had no intention of seeking shelter in your house.”
“So I should imagine,” Prescott answered smiling. “However, there ought to be a truce between even the deadliest enemies where there’s a blizzard raging and the temperature’s forty below. Though I can’t say you have treated me well, I’m glad you didn’t get frozen, and if you’ll sit down, I’ll tell Mrs. Svendsen to bring you in some breakfast.”
“With what there is between us, you could hardly expect me to sit at your table.”