vely, then cuddled back into cover
swearing that a thermometer would register zero at that very moment on
his pillow.

The storm came in gusts as the worst blizzards do at times. It made him
think of the nursery story about the fifth little pig who built a cabin
of rocks, and how the wolf threatened: "I'll huff and I'll puff, and
I'll blow your house down!" It was as if he himself were the fifth
little pig, and as if the wind were the wolf. The wolf-wind would stop
for whole minutes, gather his great lungs full of air and then without
warning would "huff and puff" his hardest. But though the cabin was
not built of rocks, it was nevertheless a staunch little shelter and
sturdily withstood the shocks.

He pitied the poor cattle still fighting famine and frost as only
range-bred stock can fight. He pictured them drifting miserably before
the fury of the wind or crowding for shelter under some friendly
cutback, their tails to the storm, waiting stolidly for the dawn that
would bring no relief. Then, with the roar and rattle in his ears, he
fell asleep.

In that particular line-camp on the Missouri the cook's duties began
with building a fire in the morning. Thurston waked reluctantly,
shivered in anticipation under the blankets, gathered together his
fortitude and crept out of his bunk. While he was dressing his teeth
chattered like castanets in a minstrel show. He lighted the fire
hurriedly and stood backed close before it, listening to the rage of the
wind. He was growing very tired of the monotony of winter; he could no
longer see any beauty in the high-turreted, snow-clad hills, nor the
bare, red faces of the cliffs frowning down upon him.

"I don't suppose you could see to the river bank," he mused, "and Gene
will certainly tear the third commandment to shreds before he gets the
water-hole open."

He went over to the window, meaning to scratch a peep-hole in the frost,
just as he had done every day for the past three months; lifted a hand,
then stopped bewildered. For instead of frost there was only steam with
ridges of ice yet clinging to the sash and dripping water in a tiny
rivulet. He wiped the steam hastily away with his palm and looked out.

"Good heavens, Gene!" he shouted in a voice to wake the Seven Sleepers.
"The world's gone mad overnight. Are you dead, man? Get up and look out.
The whole damn country is running water, and the hills are bare as this
floor!"

"Uh-huh!" Gene knuckled his eyes and sat