seeking help.

That day closed in fearful cold. The wind was become a furious gale.
Sturdily, the log house withstood it. Only the roof seemed threatened.
With each great blast, it lifted a little, as if on the point of
whirling away. But when darkness came, even the roof settled into quiet.
For the drifts that had been piling up gradually to the north and west
of the shack, sealing the windows and the door, had risen to the grassy
eaves and overflowed them, and so weighted the thatch.

Next morning, long before Marylyn and her father wakened, Dallas roused.
The room was in dusk, and its air was so cold that it seemed fairly to
singe the skin. She could not read. Presently, Marylyn turned. The elder
girl hastened to soothe her. Then, their father yawned. Dallas feigned
sleep.

But the evil moment could not be put off. Lancaster propped himself on
an elbow and called to her. He was hungry.

Very quietly, Dallas told him that there was no food.

He grunted, arose and lighted the lantern. "You dish thet snow on th'
floor," he commanded. "We'll need it fer drink."

"What're _you_ going to do?" she asked, hastening to obey. Her voice was
lowered apprehensively.

He was wrapping some clothes over his shoes. "Butcher Simon," he said
curtly.

Her face became a white spot in the gloom.

"Critter'll be tough, like's not," went on her father. "But y' c'n poun'
th' meat."

After a long wait, she spoke. "You can't reach him," she declared, half
triumphantly.

"Yas, Ah c'n," he answered. "Ah c'n chop through with th' hatchet." He
was between the fireplace and a corner, feeling over the logs with his
hands.

She ran to him. "Oh, how can you think of it?" she demanded huskily.
"Simon's so friendly and--came to us for a home. How can you kill him!
Maybe _you_ could eat him, but _I_ couldn't. It'd just choke me!"

"Oh, ain't we sof'!" sneered her father. He was fumbling about near the
bunk, as if hunting something. "Mebbe y' 'd like Ah should kill a mule!
Ha! ha! No mule-meat fer _me_. Ah'll give thet bull a tunk 'tween th'
eyes, an' we'll hev steak."

She stood in the dim light, one arm crooked up to cover her face.
Presently, Marylyn moaned; then, Dallas lowered her arm and looked down
at her sister. "One of the mules _would_ be easier," she said bitterly.
But remembering the brown eyes of the team, and the long, grey-whiskered
noses, she covered her face again.

"Ah don' keer w'at y' say," declared her father. "We