She looked up at him dumbly. He was smiling. "All
right?"
She nodded. He turned abruptly. The snow hid him from
sight at once.
"Here lies Sarah Cannon. Lay to rest and died alone, April
26, 1893."
She sank down, and pillowed her head on her arms. She knew
that this was the end. She was very drowsy, and not at all
sad. Happy, if anything.
"You didn't really think I'd leave you, did you, Fan?"
She opened her eyes. Heyl was there. He reached down, and
lifted her lightly to her feet. "Timberline Cabin's
not a hundred yards away. I just did it to try you."
She had spirit enough left to say, "Beast."
Then he swung her up, and carried her down the trail. He
carried her, not in his arms, as they do it in books and in
the movies. He could not have gone a hundred feet that way.
He carried her over his shoulder, like a sack of meal, by
one arm and one leg, I regret to say. Any boy scout knows
that trick, and will tell you what I mean. It is the most
effectual carrying method known, though unromantic.
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