Ridgway passed him by, guiding his bronco in a half-circle through the
snow.
"I'll send back help for you," he promised.
"It will be too late, but save her--save her," the old man begged.
"I will," called back the other between set teeth.
Chinn was the next to drop out, and after him the one he called Husky.
Both their horses had been abandoned a mile or two back, too exhausted to
continue. Each of them Ridgway urged to stick to the trail and come on as
fast as they could.
He knew the horse he was riding could not much longer keep going with the
double weight, and when at length its strength gave out completely he went
on afoot, carrying her in his arms as on that eventful night when he had
saved her from the blizzard.
It was so the rescue-party found him, still staggering forward with her
like a man in a sleep, flesh and blood and muscles all protestant against
the cruelty of his indomitable will that urged them on in spite of
themselves. In a dream he heard Yesler's cheery voice, gave up his burden
to one of the rescuers, and found himself being lifted to a fresh horse.
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