Holt,--how full our hearts are of the
gratitude--" She stopped, tears in her voice.
"Sho! No need of that, Miss. He dragged me along." His thumb jerked
toward the man who was driving. "I've seen better dog punchers than
Elliot, but he's got the world beat at routin' old-timers out of bed and
persuadin' them to kick in with him and buck a blizzard. Me, o' course,
I'm an old fool for comin'--"
The dark eyes of the girl were like stars in a frosty night. "Then
you're the kind of a fool I love, Mr. Holt. I think it was just fine of
you, and I'll never forget it as long as I live."
Mrs. Olson had cooked too long in lumber and mining camps not to know
something about bone-setting. Under her direction Gordon made splints
and helped her bandage the broken leg. Meanwhile Swiftwater Pete fed
his horses from the grain on the sled and Sheba cooked an appetizing
breakfast. The aroma of coffee and the smell of frying bacon stimulated
appetites that needed no tempting.
Holt, propped up by blankets, ate with the others. For a good many years
he had taken his luck as it came with philosophic endurance. Now he
wasted no time in mourning what could not be helped. He was lucky the
ice slide had not hit him in the head.
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