"Let me walk, Kalman," entreated Marjorie. "I feel fresh and strong. He can't go on, and he will only keep us back."
"You walk!" cried Kalman. "Never! If he can't keep up let him stay and die."
"No, Kalman, I am quite strong."
She slipped off the horse, Kalman growling his wrath and disgust, and together they assisted Mr. Penny to mount. By this time they had reached the thickest part of the woods. The trees broke to some extent the force of the wind, but the cold was growing more intense.
"Single file here!" shouted Kalman to Marjorie. "You follow me."
Slowly, painfully, through the darkness and drifted snow, with teeth clenched to keep back the groans which the pain of his foot was forcing from him, Kalman stumbled along. At length a misstep turned his foot. He sank with a groan into the snow. With a cry Marjorie was beside him.
"Oh, Kalman, you have hurt yourself!"
"It is this cursed foot of mine," he groaned. "I twisted it and something's broken, I am afraid, and it is rather sore."
"Hello there! what's up?" cried Mr. Penny from his saddle. "I'm getting beastly cold up here."
Marjorie turned wrathfully upon him.