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Chairman, while we condemn the attempt on the part of Jacob Welse, Frona Welse, and Baron Courbertin to rescue the prisoner and thwart justice, we cannot, under the circumstances, but sympathize with them. There is no need that I should go further into this matter. You all know, and doubtless, under a like situation, would have done the same.
Then I met La Flitche and John, and . . . and you know the rest. This is the truth I have told you, I swear it!" He looked down at Frona. She was steadying the box, and her face was composed. He looked out over the crowd and saw unbelief. Many were laughing. "Why did you not tell this story at first?" Bill Brown demanded. "Because . . . because . . ." "Well?" "Because I might have helped."
"Because I was not so strong as they; because I could not pack as much or as long. And they laughed at me and left me." "Have you ever roughed it?" Frona asked. "No." "You look well put up and strong. Weigh probably one hundred and sixty-five?" "One hundred-and seventy," he corrected. "You don't look as though you had ever been troubled with sickness. Never an invalid?" "N-no."
Frona knew it well, creeping and crawling and twisting itself among the rocks of the shallow alluvial deposit, unlike its arboreal prototype, rarely lifting its head more than a foot from the earth. She looked into the oven, found it empty, and filled it with the wet wood. The man arose to his feet, coughing from the smoke which had been driven into his lungs, and nodding approval.
Frona nodded her head vigorously. "Thin it's yer ownself afther all? The little motherless darlin', with the goold hair I combed the knots out iv many's the time? The little witch that run barefoot an' barelegged over all the place?" "Yes, yes," she corroborated, gleefully.
A burst of water followed instantly at the point of contact and coursed down upon the grub-box. "You mustn't do that!" Frona cried, springing to her feet. She put her finger on the spot, and, pressing tightly against the canvas, ran it down to the side-wall. The leak at once stopped. "You mustn't do it, you know," she reproved. "Jove!" was his reply. "And you came through from Dyea to-day!
"What I think is neither here nor there; but I'll tell you honestly that I back her judgment. But that's not the point. What are you going to do about it? about her? now?" She did not answer, but went back to the waiting group. Lucile saw her coming and watched her face. "He's been telling you ?" "That I am a fool," Frona answered. "And I think I am."
He flashed out hungry arms to her, but she read quicker than he moved, and, laughing, eluded him and ran lightly down the trail. "Come back, Frona! Come back!" he called, "I am sorry." "No, you're not," came the answer. "And I'd be sorry if you were. Good-night." He watched her merge into the shadows, then entered the cabin.
"And your comrades? They are miners?" "Never mining in their lives. They worked in the same establishment with me. That's what makes it so hard, don't you see! We'd known one another for years! And to go off and leave me just because I couldn't keep up!" "My friend," and Frona knew she was speaking for the race, "you are strong as they. You can work just as hard as they; pack as much.
Vincent and Tim. Frona knelt down by him. "Leave go, Gregory. Do leave go." He looked up at her, and his eyes did not seem human. He breathed stertorously, and in his throat were the queer little gasping noises of one overwrought. "It is I, Gregory." She brushed her hand soothingly across his brow. "Don't you understand? It is I, Frona. Do leave go."
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