is feed when it's stuck
under his nose is his limit."

Chub lifted an ear dispiritedly when his name was spoken; but, as was
usually the case, he heard no good of himself, and dropped his head
again. No one took heed of him; no one ever did. His part was to carry
Vaughan's bed, and to follow unquestionably where Vaughan and Dixie
might lead. He was cold and tired and hungry, but his faith in his
master was strong; the responsibility of finding shelter before the dark
came down rested not with him.

Vaughan pressed his chilled knees against Dixie's ribs, but the hand
upon the reins was carefully non-committal; so that Dixie, having no
suggestion of his master's wish, ventured to indulge his own. He turned
tail squarely to the storm and went straight ahead. Vaughan put his
hands deep into his pockets, snuggled farther down into the sheepskin
collar of his coat, and rode passive, enduring.

They brought up against a wire fence, and Vaughan, rousing from his
apathy, tried to peer through the white, shifting wall of the storm.
"You're a swell guide--not," he remarked to the horse. "Now you, you
hike down this fence till you locate a gate or a corner, or any darned
thing; and I don't give a cuss if the snow does get in your eyes. It's
your own fault."

Dixie, sneezing the snow from his nostrils, turned obediently; Chub,
his feet dragging wearily in the snow, trailed patiently behind. Half an
hour of this, and it seemed as if it would go on forever.

Through the swirl Vaughan could see the posts standing forlornly in
the snow, with sixteen feet of blizzard between; at no time could he
distinguish more than two or three at once, and there were long minutes
when the wall stood, blank and shifting, just beyond the first post.

Then Dixie lifted his head and gazed questioningly before him, his ears
pointed forward--sentient, strained--and whinnied shrill challenge.
He hurried his steps, dragging Chub out of the beginnings of a dream.
Vaughan straightened and took his hands from his pockets.

Out beyond the dim, wavering outline of the farthest post came answer
to the challenge. A mysterious, vague shape grew impalpably upon the
strained vision; a horse sneezed, then nickered eagerly. Vaughan drew up
and waited.

"Hello!" he called cheerfully. "Pleasant day, this. Out for your
health?"

The shape hesitated, as though taken aback by the greeting, and there
was no answer. Vaughan, puzzled, rode closer.

"Say, don't talk