g Chief he could hear a far-off straining and sighing. A gust of
cold wind drove past, and borne with it were white flakes.

Angus needed nobody to interpret these signs, and he cursed the buckskin
and his own carelessness in neglecting to watch sun and sky. Real winter
was opening with a blizzard, and from all indications it was going to be
the real thing.

In five minutes the snowflakes had become a white blur. He could not see
fifty yards ahead. Trails vanished. Landmarks were invisible. The air
was full of drifting white. It was as if one had suddenly gone nearly
blind, unable to see beyond a short radius. No man could hold a course
with certainty. Constantly it grew colder, and the light began to fail.

Riding fast in the growing darkness was impossible. The cold began to
nip his fingers through his light buckskin gloves, and his toes, for he
was wearing leather boots and but a single pair of socks. He steered a
general downhill course which he knew in time must intersect a wagon
trail which led past the French ranch and thence home. The trouble was
that in the darkness he might cross it. In that event it would be a case
of spending the night out.

It grew utterly dark, save for a certain dim light which the snow seemed
to hold. Warned by a growing numbness in his feet Angus dismounted and
stamped the blood back into them. He decided that it must be below zero.
On the brows of the benches the wind was bitter.

Just as he decided that he must have passed it, he came on the wagon
trail. He mounted and gave Chief his head. But once more his feet began
to numb. Again he got down and stamped the circulation going, but as
soon as he began to ride again they numbed. To take off boots and rub
was out of the question, so he sent Chief sailing into the blinding
storm, trusting to luck to keep on the road.

After several miles of blind riding he saw the far flicker of a light
which he knew must come from the French ranch. He had no wish to intrude
on Christmas night, but he knew that unless he was to have badly frozen
feet he must get to shelter at once. He struck the fence, followed it to
the gate, and turned in.

The house, when he got close enough to see through the driving snow, was
brightly lighted behind drawn blinds. The chords of a piano came to him,
accompanying a strong, ringing baritone, and as he passed beneath the
window the old, rousing, hunting chorus of "John Peel" crashed out.

A devil of a time to bu