cold. Van Bibber drove aimlessly ahead, looking to the right
and left and scanning each back yard and side street. Every
now and then he hailed some passing farm wagon and asked the
driver if he had seen a stray collie dog, but the answer was
invariably in the negative. He soon left the village in the
rear, and plunged out over the downs. The wind was bitter
cold, and swept from the water with a chill that cut through
his clothes.

"Oh, this is great," said Van Bibber to the patient horse
in front of him; "this IS sport, this is. The next time I
come to this part of the world I'll be dragged here with a
rope. Nice, hospitable people those Arnetts, aren't they?
Ask you to make yourself at home chasing dogs over an ice
fjord. Don't know when I've enjoyed myself so much." Every
now and then he stood up and looked all over the hills and
valleys to see if he could not distinguish a black object
running over the white surface of the snow, but he saw nothing
like a dog, not even the track of one.

Twice he came across one of the other men, shivering and
swearing from his saddle, and with teeth chattering.
"Well," said one of them, shuddering, "you haven't found
that dog yet, I see."

"No," said Van Bibber. "Oh, no. I've given up looking
for the dog. I'm just driving around enjoying myself. The
air's so invigorating, and I like to feel the snow settling
between my collar and the back of my neck."