upon the door. Ere he could rise, the door was thrust open, and Hugo, the trapper, entered, bearing in his arms the limp form of Zell, the half-breed girl. Hugo staggered as he started to cross the floor, and he would have dropped the girl had not the missionary stepped quickly forward and caught her in his arms. He then carried her over and laid her upon a little cot near the stove. Hugo followed him, and looked down anxiously upon the unconscious one.
“I made it!” he gasped. “Lord! I thought I’d never do it!”
“Who is the girl?” the missionary asked. “What has happened to her?”
Hugo made no reply, but sat down wearily upon the nearest seat, which was nothing but a rough bench. His face was drawn and haggard, expressing more plainly than words the great struggle he had made. The missionary wisely forbore questioning further, but turned at once and prepared a cup of tea.
“This is all I have to offer you, now,” he apologised, handing Hugo a steaming cup. “I had a visitor last night, and he took nearly everything but this.”
Hugo drank the tea, and giving back the cup, stretched out his hands toward the stove.
“My! that heat feels good,” he said. “That poor girl must be chilled through; I kept her as warm as I could, but it was a hard job.”
Going at once into his bedroom, the missionary brought out a thick blanket and laid it carefully over the girl’s body.
“What is the matter with her?” he asked, turning to the trapper.
“She’s crazy, that’s what’s wrong. I found her wan-
