ate here," she said dubiously, at last.

"It seems to me," Rowdy ventured mildly, "if there were a gate, it would
have some kind of a fence hitched to it; wouldn't it?"

Miss Conroy was in no mood for facetiousness, and refused to answer his
question. "I surely can't have made a mistake," she observed uneasily.

"It would be a wonder if you didn't, such a night as this," he consoled.
"I wouldn't bank on traveling straight myself, even if I knew the
country--which I don't. And I've been in more blizzards than I'm years
old."

"Rodway's place can't be far away," she said, brightening. "It may be
farther to the east; shall we try that way--if you know which is east?"

"Sure, we'll try. It's all we can do. My packhorse is about all in, from
the way he hangs back; if we don't strike something pretty soon I'll
have to turn him loose."

"Oh, don't do that," she begged. "It would be too cruel. We're sure to
reach Rodway's very soon."

More plodding through drifts high and drifts low; more leaning from
saddles to search anxiously for trace of something besides snow and wind
and biting cold. Then, far to the right, a yellow eye glowed briefly
when the storm paused to take breath. Miss Conroy gave a glad little cry
and turned Badger sharply.

"Did you see? It was the light from a window. We were going the wrong
way. I'm sure that is Rodway's."

Rowdy thanked the Lord and followed her. They came up against a fence,
found a gate, and passed through. While they hurried toward it, the
light winked welcome; as they drew near, some one stirred the fire and
sent sparks and rose-hued smoke rushing up into the smother of snow.
Rowdy watched them wistfully, and wondered if there would be supper, and
strong, hot coffee. He lifted Miss Conroy out of the saddle, carried
her two long strides, and deposited her upon the door-step; rapped
imperatively, and when a voice replied, lifted the latch and pushed her
in before him.

For a minute they stood blinking, just within the door. The change
from numbing cold and darkness to the light of the overheated room was
stupefying.

Then Miss Conroy went over and held her little, gloved hands to the
heat of the stove, but she did not take the chair which some one pushed
toward her. She stood, the blanket shrouding her face and her slim young
figure, and looked about her curiously. It was not Rodway's house, after
all. She thought she knew what place it was--the shack where Rodway's
hay-balers