thought he saw a gleam of light. He looked long and eagerly, but in vain.
He passed over to that side of the ridge, and fired again; but there was
no response--nothing but the dim, ghostly snow on every side. Concluding
that it had been but a trick of the imagination, he was about to give up
the hope that had thrilled his heart, when feebly but unmistakably a ray
of light shot up, wavered, and disappeared. At the same moment his dog
gave a loud bark, and plunged down the ridge. A moment sufficed to give
the preconcerted signal, and almost at the risk of life and limb Webb
rushed down the precipitous slope. He had not gone very far before he
heard a long, piteous howl that chilled his very soul with dread. He
struggled forward desperately, and, turning the angle of a rock, saw a
dying fire, and beside it a human form merely outlined through the snow.
As the dog was again raising one of his ill-omened howls, Webb stopped
him savagely, and sprang to the prostrate figure, whose face was buried
in its arm.

It was Burt. Webb placed a hand that trembled like an aspen over his
brother's heart, and with a loud cry of joy felt its regular beat. Burt
had as yet only succumbed to sleep, which in such cases is fatal when no
help interposes. Webb again fired twice to guide the rescuing party, and
then with some difficulty caused Burt to swallow a little brandy. He next
began to chafe his wrists with the spirits, to shake him, and to shout in
his ear. Slowly Burt shook off his fatal lethargy, and by the time the
rest of the party reached him, was conscious.

"Good God!" he exclaimed, "did I go to sleep? I vowed I would not a
hundred times. Nor would I if I could have moved around; but I've
sprained my ankle, and can't walk."

With infinite difficulty, but with hearts light and grateful, they