"I heard that Jim Peterson killed a deer the other day," suggested Dan
Anderson. "I believe I'll just step over and see if I can't get a
quarter of venison for those folks."

"Shore," said McKinney, "I'll go along. No, I won't; I'll take a
_pasear_ acrost the street and have a look at a little stuff I brung
up from the ranch yesterday."

"No Christmas," said Curly, staring ahead of himself into the tobacco
smoke, and indulging in a rare soliloquy. "No Christmas dinner--and
this here is in Ameriky!"

It is difficult to tell just how it occurred; but presently, had any
one of us turned to look about him, he must have found himself alone.
The moonlight streamed brilliantly over the long street of Heart's
Desire. . . . The scarred sides of old Carrizo looked so close that
one might almost have touched them with one's hand. . . .

It was about three miles from the street, up over the foot-hills, along
the fiat cañon which debouched below the spring where lay the snowbank.
There were different routes which one could take. . . .

I knew the place very well from Curly's description, and found it easy
to follow up the trickle of water which came down the cañon from the
spring. Having found the spring, it was easy to locate the spot in the
snowbank where the oysters had been cached. I was not conscious of
tarrying upon the way, yet, even so, there had been feet more swift
than mine. As I came up to the spring, I heard voices and saw two
forms sitting at the edge of the snowbank.