More plodding through drifts high and drifts low; more leaning from saddles
to search anxiously for trace of something besides snow and wind and biting
cold. Then, far to the right, a yellow eye glowed briefly when the storm
paused to take breath. Miss Conroy gave a glad little cry and turned Badger
sharply.

"Did you see? It was the light from a window. We were going the wrong way.
I'm sure that is Rodway's."

Rowdy thanked the Lord and followed her. They came up against a fence, found
a gate, and passed through. While they hurried toward it, the light winked
welcome; as they drew near, some one stirred the fire and sent sparks and
rose-hued smoke rushing up into the smother of snow. Rowdy watched them
wistfully, and wondered if there would be supper, and strong, hot coffee. He
lifted Miss Conroy out of the saddle, carried her two long strides, and
deposited her upon the door-step; rapped imperatively, and when a voice
replied, lifted the latch and pushed her in before him.

For a minute they stood blinking, just within the door. The change from
numbing cold and darkness to the light of the overheated room was
stupefying.

Then Miss Conroy went over and held her little, gloved hands to the heat of
the stove, but she did not take the chair which some one pushed toward her.
She stood, the blanket shrouding her face and her slim young figure, and
looked about her curiously. It was not Rodway's house, after all. She
thought she knew what place it was--the shack where Rodway's hay-balers
bached.

From the first, Rowdy did not like the look of things--though for himself it