ncing
sideways at his bronzed, soldierly face, wished I had gumption enough
left to start him going on some of his Indian campaigns. It was too
late; I had not the gumption; I was too cold.

Now I believe I am fairly well qualified to know when I really feel
cold. I have slept out with the thermometer out of sight somewhere down
near the bulb; I once snowshoed nine miles; and then overheated from
that exertion, drove thirty-five without additional clothing. On various
other occasions I have had experiences that might be called frigid. But
never have I been quite so deadly cold as on that winter morning's drive
through the land fog of semi-tropical California. It struck through to
the very heart.

I subsequently discovered that it takes two hours and three quarters to
drive to the ranch. That is a long time when one has nothing to look at,
and when one is cold. In fact, it is so long that one loses track of
time at all, and gradually relapses into that queer condition of passive
endurance whereto is no end and no beginning. Therefore the end always
comes suddenly, and as a surprise.

So it was in this case. Out of the mists sprang suddenly two tall fan
palms, and then two others, and still others. I realized dimly that we
were in an avenue of palms. The wheels grated strangely on gravel. We
swung sharply to the left between hedges. The mass of a building loomed
indistinctly. Manning applied the brakes. We stopped, the steam from
the horses' shining backs rising straight up to mingle with the fog.

"Well, here we are!" said Manning.

So we were! I hadn't thought of that. We must be here. After an
appreciable moment it occurred to me that perhaps I'd better climb down.
I did so, very slowly and stiffly, making the sad mistake of jumping
down from the height of the step. How that did injure my feelings! The
only catastrophe I can remember comparable to it was when a teacher
rapped my knuckles with a ruler after I had been making snowballs bare
handed. My benumbed faculties next swung around to the proposition of
proceeding up an interminable gravel walk--(it is twenty-five feet
long!) to a forbidding flight of stairs--(porch steps--five of them!) I
put this idea into execution. I reached the steps. And then----

The door was flung open from within, I could see the sparkle and leap of
a fine big grate fire. The Captain stood in the doorway, a broad smile
on his face; my hostess smiled another welcome behind him; the Ge