The Lost Wagon

by Jim Kjelgaard

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Barbara and Ellis

  When Barbara Tower mounted Snedeker's blaze-faced brown horse, she was alittle afraid. All her life she had been accustomed to farm animals ofvarious kinds, and she had an inborn understanding of them as well asdeep sympathy for them. But her riding had been confined to the placidfarm horses of Missouri, and now she felt this high-strung creaturequivering beneath her and eager to go. Holding the horse in, she bentdown as though to examine the length of her stirrup.

  She was not afraid of the horse, but she trembled lest she do somethingwrong while Ellis was watching. Expertly, he wheeled his horse and cameto her side.

  "Shall I shorten the stirrups?"

  "No, I was just looking. I think they're about right."

  She warmed to this young man who thought it his place to offer her smallcourtesies. Except for Hugo Gearey, all the other young men she'd everknown would have waited while she herself did whatever was necessary.Experimentally, she reined the horse about and he responded at once.That restored her confidence. The horse was spirited but he wasthoroughly broken and without being forced he would heed the wishes ofhis rider. She fell in behind Ellis and they walked their horses out tothe Trail. They turned to wave good-by to Barbara's watching family, andthe Towers waved back.

  The weather was crisp and cold, with a steady north wind that crimsonedboth young people's cheeks. But they were not cold because they weredressed for the weather--Barbara wore her heavy brown coat, cut downtrousers, and had a wool scarf over her head--they were young, and theprospect of an exciting dance provided its own spiritual warmth.

  At least once a week and sometimes oftener, cavalry patrols had beendown the Trail. The patrols always stopped at Snedeker's, but they werealways commanded by some non-commissioned officer with a strong sense ofduty and a stronger realization of what would happen if he was in anyway derelict in that duty. Therefore, much to the chagrin of the youngprivates who made up the body of the patrol, and who wanted to stay nearBarbara, they never stopped for very long. However, because of them theTrail was packed, and Ellis dropped back to ride beside Barbara.

  He wore a buffalo-skin coat, heavy trousers, and loose moccasins overtwo pairs of wool socks. Behind his saddle was a parcel with necessarytoilet articles and a change of clothing, and Barbara had noted thattoo. The men of Missouri went to dances and parties in their workclothing, and civilians who attended dances at Fort Laramie seldombothered to change greasy buckskins or whatever else they were wearing.But Ellis was going to make himself presentable and she knew he wasdoing it for her.

  Many things about Ellis appealed to her, yet when she asked herself howshe felt about marrying him, no answer came to mind. Actually, althoughthey had been together a great deal, they had not talked very much andshe knew relatively little about him. He seemed outspoken enough withher mother and her father, but when he was alone with Barbara he tendedto become tongue-tied. And since she herself had trouble with words inhis presence, their conversations were usually halting anduninformative.

  She could not help thinking, from time to time, of Hugo Gearey's wittyand fascinating talk, of the hours when he had regaled her withcountless stories and anecdotes. She remembered, too, although shebrushed the thought angrily aside, the feeling of his arms about her, ofhis lips on her lips. He was a horrid person, but she could not denythat he had remained in her mind, and his poise and charm, deceptivethough they were, made Ellis's long awkward silences more disturbingthan they otherwise would be. On the other hand, when Ellis looked ather with his whole heart in his eyes she tingled. She was woman enoughto be thrilled by his devotion, even though she wasn't at all sure ofher own feelings toward him.

  Ellis's Kentucky thoroughbred, a sleek and powerful animal, kept itshead high and ears forward as it looked interestedly at everything onboth sides of the Trail. Though he was not boastful, Ellis could notconceal the pride he took in his horse and occasionally Barbara wonderedwhether he would ever take that much pride in anything else. The woolcap she had knitted for him was pulled down over the left side of hisface to shield his cheek from the wind, and he turned toward her.

  "How do you like it?" he asked.

  It was meant to be a gay and informal question, but somehow it wasstilted and formal. Barbara tried to respond gaily and for the momentcould not.

  "This is fine!"

  She smiled, and when he smiled back she could not help thinking that hehad a warm and nice smile. Yet she felt restrained, and could notunderstand her feeling. When Ellis asked her to go to the dance, it hadseemed a wonderful adventure and she had gone to bed each night hopingthat he would get her father's and mother's permission. Now that theywere actually on the Trail and started toward Laramie, she hadmisgivings. She had gone out with young men before, but never forovernight, and she wondered suddenly what her friends back in Missouriwould say if they could know. The thought should not disturb her but itdid. For the moment the young man beside her was almost a stranger, andshe thought that she had been ill-advised to go with him at all.

  She shifted her hands, and when she did so the rein brushed her mount'sneck and he turned half around. Barbara knew a sudden rush ofembarrassment. She had been holding the reins too loosely, and notpaying enough attention to what she was doing. As a consequence she hadblundered, and in Ellis's eyes she must be less than perfect. But whenshe turned to explain her error, he was looking the other way. Barbarabegan to relax.

  A coyote flashed out of a copse of brush and raced down the Trail. Witha spontaneous whoop that startled her momentarily, Ellis was after it.Barbara reined her horse to a slow walk and watched, her eyes shining.Ellis rode his big horse as though he were a part of it, with every moveof horse and rider perfectly coordinated. She watched the coyoteoutdistance him. Laughing, he came back. Barbara laughed, too, andsuddenly it seemed that all the ice between them had melted.

  "Didn't anyone ever tell you that a horse can't outrun a coyote?"

  "King could. I was holding him back. Didn't want to frighten the poorlittle coyote to death."

  They laughed wildly, as though at some huge joke, and the horses bobbedhappy heads as they went down the Trail at a fast walk. Ellis turned towatch six elk disappearing into a pine thicket. Barbara stole a covertglance at his profile.

  She'd given Ellis a great deal of thought. Certainly she wanted to getmarried. But there should be more to marriage than the simple act of aman and woman exchanging vows and living together. Her own parents'marriage was far different, she reflected, than other marriages she hadseen among their neighbors in Missouri. Her parents had a special kindof feeling for each other that was much more than physical, more eventhan their satisfaction in sharing their home and their children. Theylaughed together and they worried together, and one could be happy forno reason except the other had enjoyed himself, the way Emma was happywhen Joe would come back refreshed from an evening at Tenney's store. Itwas a kind of blending and merging, with each one willing and eager togive up his own private world in order to build a sort of combinationworld. She couldn't quite get it into words, but it did seem like a realmelting and fusing of two destinies into one destiny. Barbara herselfhad never met any man who made her feel like blending and merging herlife that way, and she wondered whether something might be lacking inher.

  Barbara remembered vividly the night Ellis proposed to her. When they'dfirst arrived at Snedeker's, she had heard Jim Snedeker refer to Ellisas a woman chaser and she had thought little about that or about Ellis.Most of the boys she knew chased girls. But as day followed day,unaccountably she had found herself watching for Ellis. Working in thecabin, she would glance out the window to see if he was around. When heasked her to go walking with him, she was happy to go.

  They were strolling on a dark, moonless night when--and she still didnot know how it happened--she was in his arms and his lips were on hers.Ellis's embrace was not like Hugo Gearey's and his lips had a differentmeaning in them. She could yield to this kiss and still feel safe, andsomeh
ow deeply stirred in a new way, a mysterious way. Barbara felt herknees tingle, and her body went strangely limp. A thousand times since,in memory, she had heard his whispered,

  "I love you, Bobby! Will you marry me?"

  And her reply. "I--I don't know, Ellis."

  For a few days after that she had avoided him and secretly had been alittle afraid of him. But she had always gone back because there wassomething about him that drew her back.

  Now, as she studied his profile, she knew that her answer was the onlyone she could have given. She hadn't known and she still didn't know.Ellis turned suddenly and Barbara glanced quickly away.

  "Race you!" he said.

  "Oh, Ellis--"

  "Come on!"

  He touched his knees to his horse and Barbara accepted the challenge.Side by side they thundered down the Trail, and Barbara let the reinsslacken while, with an almost fierce will, she urged her horse on. Shewanted to win. But she could not win. Her mount was good, but Ellis'swas better. He drew ahead, widened the gap between them, and as soon ashe was ten yards in the lead he stopped and turned to grin.

  "I win!"

  "You should, with that horse."

  Ellis said, and Barbara had an easy feeling that her father would havesaid it in almost the same way, "He's as good as there is. It's the sortof horse a man should have. Want to ride him?"

  "I'd love to!"

  They changed mounts, Ellis holding hers even while he shortened thestirrups for her. Barbara felt the huge horse beneath her and knew asudden wild thrill. She had heard of the delights of horsemanship, butuntil now she had never really tasted them. The horse stood still but,standing, he communicated his surging, latent power to his rider.Barbara had a giddy feeling that, if she let him run and did notrestrain him, he could run clear to the end of the world. The horseturned its head to look at her with gentle eyes, but he responded atonce when she wanted him to. His gait was so soft and easy that Barbarahad a strange sense of floating, and she had not ridden a hundred yardsbefore she knew that this horse was hers completely, and that he woulddo whatever she wanted him to do. She turned a teasing face to Ellis.

  "Let's race now!"

  They were off again, Barbara little more than a feather's weight in thesaddle while the horse seemed to develop an eagle's wings. It was purestjoy, unmarred delight, but when Barbara thought she had left Ellis farin the rear and looked around, he was almost at her heels. She had thebetter horse, but he was the better rider. Barbara reined her horse to awalk.

  "I win!"

  "You'll win anything with King. How do you like him?"

  "He's wonderful!"

  "He certainly is."

  Again they rode side by side, all softness gone and easy intimacyreigning.

  Ellis passed her a slip of paper. "Your dance card."

  She unfolded the paper and read, "First dance, Ellis. Second dance,Ellis. Third dance, Ellis. Fourth dance--" There were twenty dances,with Ellis as her partner for every one. She looked at him in mockindignation.

  "I'm supposed to fill my dance card!"

  He grinned. "No harm in hinting, is there?"

  "You're impossible!"

  "I've always been."

  They laughed again, and the horses pricked their ears forward. Followingtheir intent gaze, the pair saw a cavalry patrol come around a hill and,when they drew nearer, Sergeant Dunbar greeted them. Barbara warmed atthe sight of her old friend.

  "Hello!"

  "Hello!" they called in unison.

  The patrol reined in, the six privates who accompanied Dunbar gloomy andsullen because they would miss the New Year's festivities at Laramie.For the moment, Barbara recognized no familiar face among them.

  Dunbar's eyes twinkled as he glanced from Barbara to Ellis.

  "Going to Laramie?" he asked.

  "Um-hum," Barbara said happily. "We're going to the dance there."

  Dunbar barked, "Jankoski and Gearey, stay in line!"

  Barbara found herself face to face with Hugo Gearey. At sight of him herheart lurched.

  He removed his hat and bowed. Then, turning to Dunbar he said, withstrict military formality, "Sergeant Dunbar, may I have five minutesalone with Miss Tower? I have an important message for her."

  Dunbar scowled. "Barbara, is it your wish to talk with Private Geareyfor five minutes?"

  Barbara was torn. She knew that Gearey was not to be trusted, yet withall these men around to protect her--and if he did have a message--

  She replied primly, "Five minutes should be ample."

  Gearey behind her, Barbara rode on down the path until they were out ofearshot but still in full view of the others.

  Then she turned to him. "Well?"

  He chewed his lip. "Can't we get out of sight of those blasted--"

  "Your message?" she interrupted.

  He saw that she would not be swayed. He drew a deep breath. "Barbara--Inever got to see you again, to apologize for the ugly way I behaved thatnight. I want you to know that I have the deepest regard, the deepestrespect for you. I hope you'll give me an opportunity to prove this. MayI see you--soon?"

  His voice was deep and warm. He seemed so terribly in earnest. Could itbe that she had misjudged him? She wavered, and he saw that he hadgained ground.

  "I won't urge you now," he said humbly. "But I'll come down toSnedeker's when this patrol is over, and--" He dropped his voice untilit was little more than a vibrant whisper, "You will see me, Barbara?Just for an hour?"

  Again she hesitated, some inner devil prompting, "_You are not promisedto Ellis. Why not see him--just for an hour?_" She tossed her head andsaid, with an effort at indifference, "Possibly. I don't promise." Thenshe reined her horse around and galloped back to the others.

  Ellis watched her coming with burning eyes, and he glared murderously atGearey. Hugo's face was noncommittal and entirely friendly as he tookhis place in line. The meeting had been, for Hugo, a great piece ofluck.

  Barbara saw that Ellis was on the verge of an outburst, but she felt hehad no right to one, and she would not placate him. She averted her gazeto look at Dunbar. He asked, "Your family is at Snedeker's, eh?"

  "That's right," Barbara smiled, "and they'll love to see you."

  "Can't stop on the way down," he said regretfully, "but we'll surely doit on the way back. How are the youngsters?"

  "They've missed you."

  A happy smile lighted Dunbar's face and he said to Ellis, "Take goodcare of this young lady."

  "I will," Ellis assured him. His eyes swept Gearey once more, and againBarbara saw that there was something explosive in Ellis, something agirl ought to worry about.

  They went on, walking their horses most of the time but trotting themoccasionally. Clouds spanned the sky and the sun disappeared, and whenit did the cold seemed more intense. Barbara thought of the lunch thather mother had packed.

  "I'm hungry," she said.

  Morosely he replied, "It isn't noon yet."

  "Let's eat anyway."

  "Your wish is my command, Your Highness." There was resentment still inhis voice.

  Ellis dismounted, helped Barbara dismount, and rein-tied the horses. Hemade his way to a stand of pine a few feet off the Trail, broke anarmful of the brittle lower branches from them, and started a firebeside the packed snow. Barbara moved into its circle of warmth andunpacked the sandwiches. She thought they were roast buffalo, but whenshe opened them she saw that they contained the last of the Christmasham. She knew a flush of gratitude toward her mother who, when sendingyoung people out for a royal time, would also provide them with a royalfeast.

  "This is good!" she called to him, but Ellis was eating silently,scarcely aware of the food at all.

  Barbara laughed, took a generous bite, and ate hungrily. Ellis finishedhis sandwich and took another. He was about to eat it when hestraightened and looked down the Trail. When he turned to her, his facewas serious.

  "I don't like it."

  She said airily, "What don't you like?"

  He m
oved away from her studying the sky and the movements of thebranches. "The wind's shifted from north to east."

  "Can't the wind change its mind?"

  "Bobby," he was very earnest, "we're in for a storm. We'd better ride."

  She was uncertain. "Are you sure?"

  "I'm dead sure!"

  He helped her repack the sandwiches and returned them to her saddlebag.She felt a rising concern and a little fear. But after he helped hermount his horse and she looked down at him, she steadied. There wasgoing to be a storm because he had said so. But he seemed calm, andsomehow she felt that he would know what to do about it.

  "We're going to make time," he told her. "I've put you on King becausehe'll follow me and I know he'll keep up. If you need anything, say so."

  A cold chill brushed Barbara's spine when they were again moving. Thewind, that had fanned their left cheeks since they'd started, was nowfull in their faces and Barbara bent her head against it. She had anoverwhelming sense of something terrible about to be. It was as though agreat, grim beast lurked in the overcast sky and was preparing to pounceon them.

  Ellis set off at a canter, and Barbara's mount kept close at his heels.She sensed a difference in the horse. He too knew that a storm was onthe way and he feared it. But he had an animal's blind faith in Ellis.The wind's whine became a savage snarl, and Barbara bent her headfurther. She looked up when Ellis shouted, and it was terrifying becausehe had to shout.

  "Are you all right?"

  She shouted back, "I'm all right."

  "Don't worry."

  She voiced her fear. "Don't--don't you think we'd better go back?"

  "We'll never make it!"

  The first snow came, a barrage of wind-driven pellets that stung herface and left her gasping. The day turned to twilight, and when sheraised her head she could see only a few feet on either side. Just aheadof her, Ellis was a snow-shrouded figure. Time became meaningless,measureless. They moved on and on for how many minutes or hours shecould not tell. The fury of the wind increased and breathing became moredifficult. Barbara wanted to cry out and knew that she must not. Thecold touched her body and seemed to penetrate her very bones. She wasaware of Ellis shouting, and it seemed that he shouted from a very longway off.

  "Give me your reins!"

  Without question she put the reins in his outstretched hand and clung tothe saddle horn. The horses were walking now, fighting the storm.Barbara knew a stabbing panic. Was this the end? Would this be the endof her life, before she had fully lived? The cold numbed her, so thatthere was no longer much feeling in her hands and face. She almostslipped from the saddle. Then she was aware of Ellis shouting again, andshe saw him standing beside her.

  "Get off!" he repeated.

  She slipped into his arms and felt them close about her. He carried her.She still heard the wind but it did not blast her nor was snow fallingon her, and she knew they had found shelter. Dimly she saw the doorwaythrough which they had entered, and felt herself being very gently setdown. Ellis's shout rang very loudly because he had not remembered thatthere was no longer need to shout.

  "Can you stand up?"

  "Yes!"

  She stood on shaky knees while Ellis brought both horses in and closedthe door. It was very black now, but when Ellis struck a match she sawthat they were in some kind of cabin with a big pile of buffalo robes inthe center. The match flickered out. She heard him fumbling in thedarkness. Then his arms were around her again and his voice was verygentle:

  "We're all right now."

  "Wh--where are we?"

  "In one of Jim's storage shacks. Come on."

  She let him guide her, and tried with her numb fingers to help him whenhe begun removing her snow-crusted outer clothing. He struck anothermatch so he could see her shoes, unlaced them, took them off, and easedher down on a pile of buffalo robes he had arranged. He covered her withmore robes, but she lay shivering and it seemed that she would never bewarm again. The cabin lighted as he struck still another match, led thehorses to the opposite wall and tied them to a pile of buffalo robes.She shivered and said fretfully, between stiff lips,

  "I'm cold."

  Then he was beside her under the robes, giving to her chilled body thewarmth of his own. Gratefully she snuggled very close, while the horsesstamped inside and the wind screamed outside. Ellis put both arms aroundher. Sleep claimed Barbara.

  When she awakened, it was still black night inside the cabin and thewind still screamed outside. Barbara felt warm, snug, comfortable. Sheput out an exploring hand to touch Ellis, and he responded instantly,taking her whole hand and wrist into his warm, sensitive fingers.

  "Are you awake, Barbara?"

  "Ellis," she whispered. "You saved our lives."

  He pressed her hand gently and held it undemandingly in his own. "I'vebeen lying here thinking," he said. "When we were out in the storm, Iwasn't sure we could reach this cabin. Suppose we hadn't come through? Iwas lying here trying to figure out what was the thing I would mostregret. Know what I decided?"

  "What?" Sleepily content, she awaited his answer. How strange--orperhaps it wasn't so strange--that in this barren cabin, in utterdarkness and isolation, when they had narrowly escaped death, that Ellisshould be able to talk to her so openly, so easily, more easily than atany time since she had met him. "What would you most regret, Ellis?"

  "I would regret that I had not known you longer, had more time withyou. I would regret that I hadn't told you more about myself, even thebad things. I want to tell you everything about myself, Barbara. Whetheryou say yes or no to me later on, I want it to be on the basis of allthe truth. May I tell you about--about before I came to Snedeker's?"

  "Please," she whispered.

  He told her, then, about his gentle laughing mother, and his loving butunreliable father who had made too much money gambling and had lived toofast and died too young. And he told her about his Uncle George who hadnot only stolen most of the family property but had tried to rule Elliswith an iron rod, had disrupted all his plans and made a fool of himbefore his friends, and who had ended up by receiving a punch in the jawfrom his outraged nephew. He told her of his one good year at college,of his falling in love with Mary Harkness and his following her acrossthe country. He told her of his moodiness (which she already knew) andof his quick temper (which she already knew) and he told her that he wasashamed of his temper and that he recognized that it was a remnant ofhis childhood, and that most of the time it was unjustified, and that hecouldn't promise to get rid of it immediately but that he would keep ontrying until he did. He spared himself nothing, and only by readingbetween the lines was she able to see a young man buffeted and lonely,but eager for friendship and love, with a wealth of devotion to offer, atrue humility and a burning desire for truth and honesty above allthings.

  How different was this blurted, forthright account from the smooth,polished presentation of a Hugo Gearey!

  He had stopped talking and now they lay quietly, looking up into thedarkness. He had confided all of himself, placed all of his faith in herunderstanding. And even now he asked nothing, made no demands. EllisGarner was an amazing young man. She felt that there was much, much moreto know about him, but everything that she already knew she couldrespect. She turned to him.

  In the darkness, their arms found each other and their lips met. This,Barbara thought, was a dream come true. This was what she thought ofwhen she thought of marriage.

  Thus, out of the storm, was born their love.

  * * * * *

  After Barbara and Ellis left, Joe went back to his woodcutting. Heworked steadily, almost savagely, but for the first time in days therewas no joy in labor. Joe felled and trimmed another tree and immediatelyattacked the next one. He shook his head doggedly, knowing that hemissed Barbara and Ellis but not wanting to admit it to himself. Helooked anxiously up when the wind shifted from north to east but he didnot recognize the meaning behind its shift. He was uneasy about theclouds. He decided that Barbara and
Ellis must be in Laramie. At thesame time, he knew that he was merely trying to reassure himself aboutsome peril that he sensed but could not see. They couldn't be in Laramieby this time even if they'd galloped all the way.

  Shortly before noon, the wind began to scream and Joe knew. Mounting themare mule, he held his ax very tightly and drove both mules at a deadrun all the way back to the cabin. But before he got there, the snowstarted.

  It fell in grotesque, distorted curtains that were bent and twisted bythe howling wind. Joe stabled the mules and fought his way out of thestable toward the store. Flying snow plastered his clothing, and he wasa white wraith when he reached the door. Joe entered.

  "Jim?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Can we get down the Trail?"

  "No, man! We'd be lost in the snow afore we went twicet and arrer shot."

  "But those kids--"

  "Don't bust a button," Snedeker advised. "That Ellis Garner, he'snobody's fool. He'll know what to do."

  "I'm going anyhow!"

  Snedeker walked to the rifle rack, took a rifle from it and grasped itsmuzzle with both hands. "Try it an' I'll lay you out with this."

  "We can't get through?"

  "We can't, an' you got the rest of your family to think about."

  "I--"

  "Stop fussin'. Even the sojers that went down a while back haven'tshowed up. They had to den in the snow. No sense throwin' your lifeaway. When the snow stops, I'll go with you. Now git to your cabin an'act like you had some sense."

  Joe stumbled through the wind-driven snow and only dimly could he evensee the cabin. He opened the door and needed all his strength to closeit against the wind. Though it lacked hours until nightfall, Emma hadlighted a lantern and her face was white in its flow.

  "Joe, the youngsters--"

  "They had horses. They'll be in Laramie by this time."

  He spoke what he hoped was the truth and knew was not. Emma knew it toobut she said nothing. Joe removed his snow-plastered hat and coat andwalked to a window. He couldn't even see trees that grew no more thansixty feet away. Joe clenched his fists so hard that nails bit intopalms, and his throat was very dry. No human being could fight such astorm, and if Ellis and Barbara were not in Laramie....

  Tad sat on the floor, busily carving wooden knives for Alfred andCarlyle. Little Joe watched soberly, but when he reached for Tad'sknife, Tad drew it away.

  Tad said with unaccustomed gentleness, "No, you might cut yourself." Hesaid casually, "Ma, the storm seems to be lettin' up. Bobby an' Elliswill be all right."

  Holding baby Emma on her lap, knowing that Tad wanted to reassure her,Emma said wanly, "Yes, dear."

  The afternoon was endless, but the night was worse. Joe forced food intohis month and swallowed. But it was tasteless fare; he had ears only forthe wind that blasted the cabin and thoughts for nothing except Barbaraand Ellis. That night he lay beside Emma, listening while the stormraged. He could not sleep and he knew that Emma was wakeful too. Thenight was a week long, and Joe started at an alien sound. He sat up inthe darkness. Then,

  "Joe?" It was Snedeker.

  "Yes?"

  "Come on. We kin go now."

  Joe slipped out of bed and dressed, and Emma stood beside him. Shebrought his hat and coat, and her eyes held the prayer that she hadwhispered all night. Joe pressed her hand, and when he opened the doorhe saw that the snow had stopped. A gray ghost in the darkness, Snedekerstood on snowshoes. There were two more pairs strapped to his back andanother leaning against the cabin.

  He knelt to lace Joe's snowshoes, and swung down the Trail. Joe followedawkwardly; he had never worn snowshoes and he found them hard to wear.Snedeker dropped back beside him.

  "Don't fight 'em," he advised. "Walk on 'em. You'll get the hang of it."

  Joe said grimly, "I'll keep up."

  He began to sweat as he strove to keep pace. Snedeker was older than hebut Snedeker had worn snowshoes for years. Joe took his hat off andbrushed his sweaty face with a gloved hand. He would keep going if itkilled him, and judging by the way his legs were beginning to ache itmight do just that. Snedeker dropped back to offer him a chunk of meat.

  "Pemmican," he said. "It'll stay by a man."

  Joe ate and, from the food, he took a new store of strength. He foughthis way to within six feet of Snedeker while the sun rose on a heapedand drifted world.

  "Did you know the storm was coming?" he called.

  "Don't be an idjit, man. Think I'd of let those kids go if I had?"

  They went on, and it seemed to Joe that he had walked forever and mustcontinue to walk. It was his curse for letting two youngsters, two whowere scarcely more than children, risk their lives in this terriblewhite hell. But when he looked at his watch he discovered that he hadbeen walking for only four hours. Then they mounted a knoll and Snedekerstopped to point.

  At the foot of the knoll, two riderless horses were churning through adrift. Behind them came two people, the leader dressed in a buffalo skincoat and a silver-tasseled hat while the other wore Barbara's heavybrown coat. Forgetting that he did not know how to snowshoe, Joe ran,and he was neck and neck with Snedeker when they reached the pair. Thewinded, tired horses stopped to rest. Joe leaped into the trench theyhad broken to fling both arms about his daughter.

  "Bobby!"

  "Hello, Daddy! Was Mother worried?"

  "A mite," Joe admitted. He looked at her weary face and hugged heragain. "How did you ride out the storm?"

  Ellis said, "We never reached Laramie. The snow caught us close to thatcabin under the knoll." Joe remembered the cabin; they'd seen buffalonear it. Ellis finished, "We had to spend the night there."

  An iron band tightened around Joe's heart. He gulped and wondered how hewould tell this to Emma.

  "No fireplace thar." Snedeker asserted. "No wood nuther. How'd you keepwarm?"

  Ellis said, "We spread buffalo robes on the floor, covered ourselveswith others and lay together to keep each other warm." He lookedsquarely at Joe. "It was the only way."

  Their faces were weary. But somehow they were shining and happy andthere was only innocence written upon them. Joe's heart sank again.Barbara edged very close to Ellis, took his arm, and laughed.

  "We ate the rest of mother's lunch for breakfast. Daddy! Ham sandwichesfor breakfast are wonderful if you're hungry enough!"

  Joe said sympathetically, "It must have been a terrible night."

  "Best night of my life." Ellis smiled with his whole face. "I askedBarbara again and this time she said yes."

  "Lordy, lordy," breathed Jim Snedeker.