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. Miss Conroy Refuses Shelter.

The storm lifted suddenly, as storms have a way of doing, and a low,
squat ranch-house stood dimly revealed against the bleak expanse of
wind-tortured prairie. Rowdy gave an exultant little whoop and made for
the gate, leaned and swung it open and rode through, dragging Chub after
him by main strength, as usual. When he turned to close the gate after
Miss Conroy he found her standing still in the lane.

"Come on in," he called, with a trace of impatience born of his
weariness and hunger.

"Thank you, no." Miss Conroy's voice was as crisply cold as the wind
which fluttered the Navajo blanket around her face. "I much prefer the
blizzard."

For a moment Rowdy found nothing to say; he just stared. Miss Conroy
shifted uneasily in the saddle.

"This is old Bill Brown's place," she explained reluctantly. "He--I'd
rather freeze than go in!"

"Well, I guess that won't be hard to do," he retorted curtly, "if you
stay out much longer."

The dog was growing hysterical over their presence, and Bill Brown
himself came out to see what it was all about. He could see two dim
figures at the g