She gave him matches without a glance, and then went away. He lit a cigarette. Presently she reappeared, carrying bark and dry brush. She dug a hole in the snow and lit a fire at the bottom of it. Using a racket for a shovel, she enlarged the hole around the fire into a considerable hollow.
“It is turning colder,” she said. “You must come in here until you are rested.”
He obeyed slowly, painfully. She placed a few green fir boughs for him to sit on, and a few beside him for herself.
“It has almost stopped snowing,” she said. “If a wind comes up it will drift frightfully, and that will be worse than the snowfall.”
“How far have we come?” he asked.
“Nearly a mile,” she answered.
“I wish you would go on alone,” he said. “Without me you’d do it before the wind rises; and then, if you should happen to see Jard Hassock or someone who wouldn’t mind coming back for me, he’d find me waiting right here—if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Trouble!” she cried, turning a stricken, outraged look at him; and then she hid her face in her hands and shook with sobs.
He slipped an arm around her.
“Why did you turn on me?” he asked. “In the hut you were—very kind. Why did you change—and treat me like a dog?”