"Why, I reckon it was the cold like, she kind of froze to death. When I got home one night the fire was out, and she was just laying acrost the hearth; the room was awful cold, and there warn't no food neither—I 'spect that helped it. I'd bin away three or four days, and the food give out quicker than I thought, and the firin'. I arst a doctor here wot it was, and he said it was sincough or sumthin'."
"Syncope?" suggested Katrine.
"Yes, that's what 'e said; but I sez it was just the cold a ketchin' of her heart like, and stopping it."
"What were you doing?" asked Katrine.
"Why, I was out arter gold, o' course."
Katrine shivered. They passed the "Sally White" at that moment, with its flaring lights and noise of merriment within.
"Let's go in, Sam, and get a drink. Your tale has pretty near frozen me."
They turned in, and as Katrine pushed open the door there was a shout of recognition and welcome from the men round the bar. The door fell to behind them, shutting out the icy night.
When the light failed, and the night had come down on the claims like a black curtain let fall suddenly, the men left the ground, and stiff with cold, their muscles almost rigid, plodded slowly and silently back to the cabin. The hired men dispersed in different directions, some going down town and some to their cabins near. When Stephen and Talbot entered they found the fire leaping and crackling as if it had just been tended, and both men sat down to change their boots in the outer room. The door into the bedroom was shut, and they supposed Katrine was within. They were too tired and frozen to speak, and not a word was exchanged between them. After a time Stephen got up and went into the inner room; there was no light in it, and the door swung to behind him. Talbot, with a white drawn face, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.