Part 46 (1/2)

He pulled the man to his feet and they started on once more, Mr. Penny stumbling along like a drunken man.

”Let me walk, Kalman,” entreated Marjorie. ”I feel fresh and strong. He can't go on, and he will only keep us back.”

”You walk!” cried Kalman. ”Never! If he can't keep up let him stay and die.”

”No, Kalman, I am quite strong.”

She slipped off the horse, Kalman growling his wrath and disgust, and together they a.s.sisted Mr. Penny to mount. By this time they had reached the thickest part of the woods. The trees broke to some extent the force of the wind, but the cold was growing more intense.

”Single file here!” shouted Kalman to Marjorie. ”You follow me.”

Slowly, painfully, through the darkness and drifted snow, with teeth clenched to keep back the groans which the pain of his foot was forcing from him, Kalman stumbled along. At length a misstep turned his foot. He sank with a groan into the snow.

With a cry Marjorie was beside him.

”Oh, Kalman, you have hurt yourself!”

”It is this cursed foot of mine,” he groaned. ”I twisted it and something's broken, I am afraid, and it _is_ rather sore.”

”h.e.l.lo there! what's up?” cried Mr. Penny from his saddle.

”I'm getting beastly cold up here.”

Marjorie turned wrathfully upon him.

”Here, you great lazy thing, come down!” she cried. ”Kalman, you must ride.”

But Kalman was up and once more leading the way.

”We're almost there,” he cried. ”Come along; he couldn't find the path.”

”It's just a great shame!” cried Marjorie, half sobbing, keeping by his side. ”Can't I help you? Let me try.”

Her arm around him put new life into him.

”By Jove! I see a fire,” shouted Mr. Penny.

”That's camp,” said Kalman, pausing for breath while Marjorie held him up. ”We're just there.”

And so, staggering and stumbling, they reached the foot of the landslip. Here Kalman took the saddle off Jacob, turned him loose, and clambered up to the cave, followed by the others. Mr. Penny sank to the ground and lay upon the cave floor like one dead.

”Well, here we are at last,” said Kalman, ”thank G.o.d!”

”Yes, thank G.o.d!” said Marjorie softly, ”and--you, Kalman.”

She sank to her knees on the ground, and putting her face in her hands, burst into tears.

”What is it, Marjorie?” said Kalman, taking her hands down from her face. ”Are you hurt? What is it? I can't bear to see you cry like that.” But he didn't kiss her. The conventionalities were seizing upon him again. His old shyness was stealing over his spirit. ”Tell me what to do,” he said.

”Do!” cried Marjorie through her sobs. ”What more can you do? Oh, Kalman, you have saved me from an awful death!”

”Don't speak of it,” said the boy with a shudder. ”Don't I know it?

I can't bear to think of it. But are you all right?”