The light from the cabin window, twinkling through the storm, cheered
him a little, which was quite as unreasonable as his uneasiness. It
did not, however, cause him to linger at turning his horse into the
stable and shutting the door upon him. When he passed the cabin window
he glanced anxiously in and saw dimly through the half-frosted
glass that Miss Bridger was sitting against the wall by the table,
tight-lipped and watchful. He hurried to the door and pushed it open.

"Why, hello," greeted the Pilgrim uncertainly, The Pilgrim was
standing in the centre of the room, and he did not look particularly
pleased. Charming Billy, every nerve on edge, took in the situation at
a glance, kicked the Pilgrim's dog and shook the snow from his hat.

"I lost the trail," he lied briefly and went over to the stove. He did
not look at Miss Bridger directly, but he heard the deep breath which
she took.

"Well, so did I," the Pilgrim began eagerly, with just the least
slurring of his syllables. "I'd have been here before dark, only one
of the horses slipped and lamed himself. It was much as ever I got
home at all. He come in on three legs, and toward the last them three
like to went back on him."

"Which hoss?" asked Billy, though he felt pessimistically that he knew
without being told. The Pilgrim's answer confirmed his pessimism. Of
course, it was the only gentle horse they had.

"Say, Billy, I forgot your tobacco," drawled the Pilgrim, after a very
short silence which Billy used for much rapid thinking.