Already the night was creeping down upon the land, stealthily turning the
blank white of the blizzard into as blank a gray--which was as near darkness
as it could get, because of the snow which fell and fell, and yet seemed
never to find an abiding-place, but danced and swirled giddily in the wind
as the cold froze it dry. There would be no more damp, clinging masses that
night; it was sifting down like flour from a giant sieve; and
of the supply there seemed no end.

"I don't know of any lanes around here," she began dubiously, "unless
it's--"

Vaughan looked sharply at her muffled figure and wondered why she broke off
so suddenly. She was staring hard at the few, faint traces of landmarks;
and, bundled in the red-and-yellow Navajo blanket, with her bright, dark
eyes, she might easily have passed for a slim young squaw.

Out ahead, a dog began barking vaguely, and Rowdy turned eagerly to the
sound. Dixie, scenting human habitation, stepped out more briskly through
the snow, and even Chub lifted an ear briefly to show he heard.

"It may not be any one you know," Vaughan remarked, and his voice showed his
longing; "but it'll be shelter and a warm fire--and supper. Can you
appreciate such blessings, Miss Conroy? I can. I've been in the saddle since
sunrise; and I was so sure I'd strike the Cross L by dinner-time that I
didn't bring a bite to eat. It was a sheep-camp where I stopped, and the
grub didn't look good to me, anyway--I've called myself bad names all the
afternoon for being more dainty than sensible. But it's all right now, I
guess."

CHAPTER 2