Brokaw's met it, and the two
joined in a grip that their numb fingers scarcely felt.
"Do you know," said Billy softly, "there's been somethin' runnin' in my
head ever since we left the burning cabin. It's something my mother
taught me: 'Do unto others as you'd have others do unto you.' I'm a d---
fool, ain't I? But I'm goin' to try the experiment, Brokaw, an' see what
comes of it. I could drop in a snowdrift an' let you go on--to die. Then
I could save myself. But I'm going to take your word--an' do the other
thing. I'VE GOT A MATCH."
"A MATCH!"
"Just one. I remember dropping it in my pants pocket yesterday when I was
out on the trail. It's in THIS pocket. Your hand is in better shape than
mine. Get it."
Life had leaped into Brokaw's face. He thrust his hand into Billy's
pocket, staring at him as he fumbled, as if fearing that he had lied.
When he drew his hand out the match was between his fingers.
"Ah!" he whispered excitedly.
"Don't get nervous," warned Billy. "It's the only one."
Brokaw's eyes were searching the low timber along the shore. "There's a
birch tree," he cried. "Hold it--while I gather a pile of bark!"
He gave the match to Billy, and staggered through the snow to the bank.
Strip after strip of the loose bark he tore from the tree. Then he
gathered it in a heap in the shelter of a low-hanging spruce, and added
dry sticks, and still more bark, to it.
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