gripping his valise, tacked across the face of the
storm as if he carried sails. He was following a line of little naked,
gasping trees, which he knew must mark the way of the road. His face,
fresh from the pounding of Johnnie's fists, felt more pleasure than
pain in the wind and the driving snow. A number of square shapes
loomed upon him finally, and he knew them as the houses of the main
body of the town. He found a street and made travel along it, leaning
heavily upon the wind whenever, at a corner, a terrific blast caught
him.

He might have been in a deserted village. We picture the world as
thick with conquering and elate humanity, but here, with the bugles of
the tempest pealing, it was hard to imagine a peopled earth. One
viewed the existence of man then as a marvel, and conceded a glamour
of wonder to these lice which were caused to cling to a whirling,
fire-smote, ice-locked, disease-stricken, space-lost bulb. The conceit
of man was explained by this storm to be the very engine of life. One
was a coxcomb not to die in it. However, the Swede found a saloon.

In front of it an indomitable red light was burning, and the
snow-flakes were made blood color as they flew through the
circumscribed territory of the lamp's shining. The Swede pushed open
the door of the saloon and entered. A sanded expanse was before him,
and at the end of it four men sat about a table drinking. Down one
side of the room extended a radiant bar, and its guardian was leaning
upon his elbows listening to the talk of the men at the table. The
Swede dropped his valise upon the floor, and, smiling fraternally upon
the barkeeper, said, "Gimme some whiskey, will you?" The man placed a
bottle, a whiskey-glass, and a glass of ice-thick water upon the bar.
The Swede poured himself an abnormal portion of whiskey and drank it
in three gulps. "Pretty bad night," remarked the bartender,
indifferently. He was making the pretension of blindness which is
usually a distinction of his class; but it could have been seen that
he was furtively studying the half-erased blood-stains on the face of
the Swede. "Bad night," he said again.

"Oh, it's good enough for me," replied the Swede, hardily, as he
poured himself some more whiskey. The barkeeper took his coin and
maneuvered it through its reception by the highly nickelled
cash-machine. A bell rang; a card labelled "20 cts." had appeared.

"No," continued the Swede, "this isn't too bad weather. It's good
en