hich the grey of dawn seemed to be
getting the worse of its tussle with the black of night.

"I guess the gang down town will think we're crazy starting out to
ranch in the month of November."

"Ay!"

A splash of snow struck the bridge of Phil's nose, spread itself
and slid slowly down to the point, where it clung precariously for
a moment, then lost its hold. Another--the size of a silver
dollar--landed sheer on the nape of Jim's neck just where the coat
and his hair did not meet. Jim turned up his coat collar to
forestall a possible repetition.

"There's one consolation, Jim, we'll have everything in apple-pie
order by the spring-time."

"Ya!"

A cattleman, going townward, passed.

"Rotten weather for movin', fellows!" was his chilling comment.

Jim looked up lugubriously, but without verbal response.

Phil well understood the mood, and did not worry.

Langford might have been pondering on the comfortable bed he had left
at Mrs. Clunie's and on the advisability of turning back, or he might
have been figuring how much they were going to make on the next year's
fruit crop. As he did not turn back, his thoughts, despite his
monosyllables, were evidently bravely optimistic.

On they jogged through the enveloping mists of the vanguard of a
snow-storm, huddling themselves gradually into smaller and smaller
compass as the sleety snow warmed--or rather, cooled--to its task of
discouragement and settled down in ghostly earnest, pushing back the
already delayed dawn and casting a cheerless gloom over the
countryside.

Before the budding ranchers had gone half a mile, the watery snow was
running off their clothes. When a mile was completed they were soaked
through, sitting like two scare-crows, their hats almost to their
chins and their chins buried in their buttoned mackinaws.

They were nearing their journey's end--too miserable for words--when a
horse clip-clopped on the muddy road behind them. The rider drew up
alongside them.

"Gee, boys, but you started early. I thought I'd never catch up on
you."

The speaker was Eileen Pederstone, snug in her riding habit and
enveloped in an oilskin coat.

"In the name of all that's lovely!" ejaculated Jim. "What are you
doing up at this time in the morning?"

"I'm up by this time pretty nearly every morning, Mister Impertinence.

"I thought I might be in time to catch you at Mrs. Clunie's before you
left. I just heard of this enterprise late last night."

She