Page:The trail of the golden horn.djvu/130



HE sergeant picked up a piece of wood and was about to throw it on the fire, when a shout in the direction of the trail arrested his attention. He dropped the stick, stared in amazement, his heart beating fast. At first he thought he must have been mistaken, but when the shout was repeated he answered with a whoop that echoed through the forest’s silent reaches. Ere long he heard the sound of someone plowing his way through the snow, straight toward him. In a few minutes Rolfe appeared, his face very white, except one check which was streaked with blood, and his clothes torn. For an instant he stared first at the sergeant and then at Marion, who had risen to a sitting position. Then overcome by weakness and excitement, he dropped upon the snow near the fire. His hands clawed the air, as if warding off some invisible foe. His eyes were big with terror. North stepped to his side and laid a firm hand upon his shoulder.

“Come, buck up, old man,” he ordered. “You’re all right.”

That touch and the friendly word of cheer brought Rolfe to his senses. The wild expression left his eyes, and his uplifted hands dropped.

“Lord, it was awful!” he moaned. “It was hell let loose.”

Then he looked over at Marion.