"I reckon Jim died without ever knowin' it," said the scout, breaking again the film of ice over his eyes, and thrashing his arms. "I allers heard tell it was an easy way o' goin'. Looks to me he was better off than we are just now. Hurt much, Carroll?"
"Crunched my leg mighty bad; can't bear no weight on it. 'T was darn near froze stiff before; thet 's why I could n't get out o' the way quick."
"Sure; well, ye 'll have ter ride, then. We 'll take the blanket off Jim; he won't need it no more. 'Brick' an' I kin hoof it yet awhile--hey, 'Brick'?"
Hamlin lifted his head from the shelter of his horse's mane.
"I reckon I can make my feet move," he asserted doubtfully, "but they don't feel as though there was any life left in them." He stamped on the snow. "How long do these blizzards generally last, Sam?"
"Blow themselves out in about three days."
"Three days? God! We can never live it out here."
His eyes ranged over the dim outline of Wade stretched across the saddle, powdered with snow, rested an instant upon Carroll who had sunk back upon the ground, nursing his injured limb, and then sought the face of Wasson.
"What the hell can we do?"
"Go on; thet's all of it; go on till we drop, lad. Come, 'Brick,' my boy," and the scout gripped the Sergeant's shoulder, "you 're not the kind to lie down. We 've been in worse boxes than this and pulled out. It 's up to you and me to make good. Let's crunch some hard-tack and go on, afore the whole three of us freeze stiff."
The Sergeant thrust out his hand.
"That isn't what's taken the nerve out of me, Sam," he said soberly. "It's thinking of the girl out in all this with those devils."
"Likely as not she ain't," returned the other, tramping the snow under his feet. "I 've been thinkin' 'bout thet too. Thet outfit must hev had six hours the start o' us, didn't they?"
Hamlin nodded.
"Well, then, they could n't a ben far from the Cimarron when the storm come. They 'd be safe enough under the bluffs; have wood fer a fire, and lay thar mighty comfortable. That's whar them bucks are, all right. Why, damn it, man, we 've got to get through. 'T ain't just our fool lives that's at stake. Brace up!"
"How far have we come?"
"A good ten miles, an' the compass has kep' us straight."
They drew in closer together, and munched a hard cracker apiece, occasionally exchanging a muttered word or two, thrashing their limbs about to keep up circulation, and dampening their lips with snow. They were but dim, spectral shapes in the darkness, the air filled with crystal pellets, swept about by a merciless wind, the horses standing tails to the storm and heads drooping. In spite of the light refraction of the snow the eyes could scarcely see two yards away through the smother. Above, about, the ceaseless wind howled, its icy breath chilling to the bone. Carroll clambered stiffly into his saddle, crying and swearing from weakness and pain. The others, stumbling about in the deep snow, which had drifted around them during the brief halt, stripped the blanket from Wade's dead body, and tucked it in about Carroll as best they could.