Many and many a time as I lay there I resolved that if I should ever be spared to go back to my home and friends, the frontier should know me no more.
It was on the twenty-ninth day, as marked on stick, when I had about given up hope, that I heard a cheerful voice shouting "Whoa!" and recognized it as the voice of Harrington.

A criminal on the scafford with the noose about his neck and the trap sagging underneath his feet could not have welcomed a pardon more eagerly than I welcomed my deliverance out of this torture-chamber.
I could make no effort to open the door for him.

But I found voice to answer him when he cried "Hello, Billy!" and in response to his question assured him that I was all right.

He soon cleared a passageway through the snow, and stood beside me.
"I never expected to see you alive again," he said; "I had a terrible trip.

I didn't think I should ever get through--caught in the snowstorm and laid up for three days.