For a moment after Bone and Lufkins joined him at the spot, the
blacksmith stood looking at the half-buried three. The whole tale of
struggle with the chill, of toiling onward through the heavy snow, of
falling over hidden shrubs, of battling for their lives, was somehow
revealed to the silent men by the haggard, death-white face of Jim.
"They can't--be dead," said the smith, in a broken voice.
"He--couldn't, and--us all--his friends."
But when he knelt and pushed away some of the snow, the others thought
his heart had lost all hope.
It was Field, however, who thought to feel for a pulse. The eager
searchers from farther away had come to the place. A dozen pair of
eyes or more were focussed on the man as he held his breath and felt
for a sign of life.
"Alive!--He's alive!" he cried, excitedly. "And little Skeezucks, too!
For God's sake, boys, let's get them back to camp!"
In a leap of gladness the men let out a mighty cheer. From every
saddle a rolled-up blanket was swiftly cut, and rough but tender hands
swept off the snow that clung to the forms of the miner, the child, and
the pup.
CHAPTER XXII
CLEANING THEIR SLATE
Never could castle or mansion contain more of gladness and joy of the
heart than was crowded into the modest little home of Miss Doc when at
last the prayers and ministrations of a score of men and the one
"decent" woman of the camp were rewarded by the Father all-pitiful.
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