Lost in a Blizzard.

"Rowdy" Vaughan--he had been christened Rowland by his mother, and
rechristened Rowdy by his cowboy friends, who are prone to treat with much
irreverence the names bestowed by mothers--was not happy. He stood in the
stirrups and shook off the thick layer of snow which clung, damp and
close-packed, to his coat. The dull yellow folds were full of it; his gray
hat, pulled low over his purple ears, was heaped with it. He reached up a
gloved hand and scraped away as much as he could, wrapped the long-skirted,
"sour-dough" coat around his numbed legs, then settled into the saddle with
a shiver of distaste at the plight he was in, and wished himself back at the
Horseshoe Bar.

Dixie, standing knee-deep in a drift, shook himself much after the manner of
his master; perhaps he, also, wished himself back at the Horseshoe Bar. He
turned his head to look back, blinking at the snow which beat insistently in
his eyes; he could not hold them open long enough to see anything, however,
so he twitched his ears pettishly and gave over the attempt.

"It's up to you, old boy," Rowdy told him resignedly. "I'm plumb lost; I
never was in this damn country before, anyhow--and I sure wish I wasn't here
now. If you've any idea where we're at, I'm dead willing to have you pilot
the layout. Never mind Chub; locating his feed when it's stuck under his
nose is his limit."

Chub lifted an ear dispiritedly when his name was spoken; but, as was
usually the case, he heard no good of himself, and dropped his head again.
No one took heed of him; no one ever did. His part was to carry Vaughan's
bed, and to follow unquestionably where Vaughan and Dixie might lead. He was
cold and tired and hungry, but his faith in his master was strong; the