The horse's nose touched his
ear, starting him from a fast oncoming stupor. At the same instant the
six o'clock whistle blew at the mill across the frozen river. In a few
moments the men would be coming home, crossing the ice, perhaps to their
death instead of to the warm supper awaiting them at their shanty homes.
The thought of it all gripped Jacky's young heart with fear, but he was
powerless to warn them. He could not take a single step, and he was
rapidly becoming paralyzed with cold and pain. Once more the soft nose
of the old horse touched his ear. With the nearness of the warm,
friendly nose, his quick wit returned.
"Grey!" he almost shouted, "Grey-Boy, do you think _you_ could take the
lantern? Oh, Grey-Boy, help me think! I'm getting so numb and sleepy.
Oh, couldn't _you_ carry it for me?" With an effort the boy struggled
to his knees, and slipping his arms about the neck of his old chum,
he cried, "Oh, Grey, I saved you once from dying at the logging camp.
They'd have killed you there. Save the mill hands now just for me,
Grey, just for Jack o' Lantern, because I'm deceiving them at last.
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