twenty feet above their heads. It became more and more difficult to
replenish their fires, even from the fallen trees beside them, now
half hidden in the drifts. And yet no one complained. The lovers
turned from the dreary prospect and looked into each other's eyes, and
were happy. Mr. Oakhurst settled himself coolly to the losing game
before him. The Duchess, more cheerful than she had been, assumed the
care of Piney. Only Mother Shipton--once the strongest of the party--
seemed to sicken and fade. At midnight on the tenth day she called
Oakhurst to her side. "I'm going," she said, in a voice of querulous
weakness, "but don't say anything about it. Don't waken the kids. Take
the bundle from under my head, and open it." Mr. Oakhurst did so. It
contained Mother Shipton's rations for the last week, untouched. "Give
'em to the child," she said, pointing to the sleeping Piney. "You've
starved yourself," said the gambler. "That's what they call it," said
the woman querulously, as she lay down again, and, turning her face to
the wall, passed quietly away.

The accordion and the bones were put aside that day, and Homer was
forgotten. When the body of Mother Shipton had been committed to the
snow, Mr. Oakhurst took the Innocent aside, and showed him a pair of
snow-shoes, which he had fashioned from the old pack-saddle.

"There's one chance in a hundred to save her yet," he said, pointing
to Piney; "but it's there," he added, pointing toward Poker Flat. "If
you can reach there in two days she's safe." "And you?" asked Tom
Simson. "I'll stay here," was the curt reply. The lovers parted
with a long embrace. "You are not going, too?" said the Duchess, as
she saw Mr. Oakhurst apparently waiting to accompany him. "As far as
the canon," he replied. He turned suddenly and kissed the Duchess,
leaving her pallid face aflame, and her trembling limbs rigid with