"Oily Dave, come out! We've got a boat at the back, and we will save you if you will be quick." She was making so much noise herself, and picking her way with such extreme care over the rotten ice, that she failed to hear the first response to her calling, and the next pulled her up with a jerk.
"Oily Dave isn't here, but if you will take me I shall be very thankful." The voice was a strange one, and had an unmistakable ring of refinement and culture.

Katherine faced round with such a start of surprise as to nearly send her sprawling again, for the ice was full of pitfalls.

A young man was leaning out through the small square opening which did duty for a window, and her first impression of him was of someone extremely tired, and that gave her the clue to his identity.

He must be the Englishman who had come from Maxokama with the Indians who had brought the mail.
"Open the door and come out that way," she said in a tone of sharp authority.

"You will never be able to squeeze through that small window unless your shoulders are very narrow indeed." "Which they are not," he replied, and disappeared from view.
She heard him banging and tugging at the door, but never a jot did it stir, and after about five minutes of this futile work he appeared again at the window.