[Illustration:  THE TRACKLESS MOUNTAINS]

The following morning, while the others were preparing to leave camp, Stanton sat beside the smouldering fire smoking his pipe.  When ready to go forth, they asked him if he was coming, and he replied, “Yes, I am coming soon.”  Those were his parting words to his friends, and his greeting to the Angel of Death.[8] He never left that fireside, and his companions were too feeble to return for him when they found he did not come into camp.

Twenty-four hours later, the members of that hapless little band threw themselves upon the desolate waste of snow to ponder the problems of life and death; to search each the other’s face for answer to the question their lips durst not frame.  Fathers who had left their families, and mothers who had left their babes, wanted to go back and die with them, if die they must; but Mr. Eddy and the Indians—­those who had crossed the range with Stanton—­declared that they would push on to the settlement.  Then Mary Graves, in whose young heart were still whisperings of hope, courageously said: 

“I, too, will go on, for to go back and hear the cries of hunger from my little brothers and sisters is more than I can stand.  I shall go as far as I can, let the consequences be what they may.”

W.F.  Graves, her father, would not let his daughter proceed alone, and finally all decided to make a final, supreme effort.  Yet—­think of it—­they were without one morsel of food!  Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as the suggestion was made that, “were one to die, the rest might live.”  Then the suggestion was made that lots be cast, and whoever drew the longest slip should be the sacrifice.  Mr. Eddy endorsed the plan.  Despite opposition from Mr. Foster and others, the slips of paper were prepared, and great-hearted Patrick Dolan drew the fatal slip.  Patrick Dolan, who had come away from camp that his famishing friends might prolong their lives by means of the small stock of food which he had to leave!  Harm a hair of that good man’s head?  Not a soul of that starving band would do it.

Mr. Eddy then proposed that they resume their journey as best they could until death should claim a victim.  All acquiesced.  Slowly rising to their feet, they managed to stagger and to crawl forward about three miles to a tree which furnished fuel for their Christmas fire.  It was kindled with great difficulty, for in cutting the boughs, the hatchet blade flew off the handle and for a time was lost in deep snow.

Meanwhile, every puff of wind was laden with killing frost, and in sight of that glowing fire, Antonio froze to death.  Mr. Graves, who was also breathing heavily, when told by Mr. Eddy that he was dying, replied that he did not care.  He, however, called his daughters, Mrs. Fosdick and Mary Graves, to him, and by his parting injunctions, showed that he was still able to realize keenly the dangers that beset them.  Remembering how their faces had paled at