Pierre came from behind and stood over her unnoticed. He saw that the
oncoming tree, by a strange chance, had knocked down the girl and
pinned her legs to the ground. His strength and the strength of a
dozen men would not be sufficient to release her. This he saw at the
first glance, and saw the bright gold of her hair against the snow.
Then he dropped on his knees beside her.




CHAPTER 8


The girl tossed up her arms in a silent greeting, and Pierre caught
the small cold hands and saw that she was only a child of twelve or
fourteen trapped by the wild storm sweeping over them. He crouched
lower still, and when he did so the strength of the wind against his
face decreased wonderfully, for the sharp angle of the hill's
declivity protected them. Seeing him kneel there, she cried out with a
little wail: "Help me--the tree--help me!" And, bursting into a
passion of sobbing, she tugged her hands from his and covered
her face.

Pierre placed his shoulder under the trunk and lifted till the muscles
of his back snapped and cracked. He could not budge the weight; he
could not even send a tremor through the mass of wood. He dropped back
beside her with a groan. He felt her eyes upon him; she had ceased her
sobs, and looked steadily into his face.

It would have been easy for him to meet that look on the morning of