The instant she appeared, Dolores forced upon herself an appearance of
joyous excitement. She flung off her coat and ran to Peter, hugging his
head against her as she told him swiftly what they were going to do. Fort
Confidence was only one hundred and fifty miles away, and a garrison of
police and a doctor were there. Five days on a sledge! That was all. And
she had persuaded Blake, the trader, to help them. They would start now,
as soon as she got him ready and Blake came. She must hurry. And she was
wildly and gloriously happy, she told him. In a little while they would
be at least on the outer edge of this horrible night, and he would be in
a doctor's hands.

She was holding Peter's head so that he could not see her face, and by
the time she jumped up and he did see it, there was nothing in it to
betray the truth or the fact that she was acting a lie. First she began
to dress Peter for the trail. Every instant gave her more courage. This
helpless, sunken-cheeked man with the hair graying over his temples was
Peter, her Peter, the Peter who had watched over her, and sheltered her,
and fought for her ever since she had known him, and now had come her
chance to fight for him. The thought filled her with a wonderful
exultation. It flushed her cheeks, and put a glory into her eyes, and
made her voice tremble. How wonderful it was to love a man as she loved
Peter! It was impossible for her to see the contrast they made--Peter
with his scrubby beard, his sunken cheeks, his emaciation, and she with
her radiant, golden beauty. She was ablaze with the desire to fight. And
how proud of her Peter would be when it was all over!

She finished dressing him and began putting things in their big dunnage
sack. Her lips tightened as she made this preparation. Finally she came
to a box of revolver cartridges and emptied them into one of the pockets