ellowstone, and every Northern outfit has
got to go down and help work the range from there back. I tell yuh, Bud,
yuh want to lay in a car-load uh films and throw away all them little,
jerk-water snap-shots yuh got. There's going to be roundups like these
old Panhandle rannies tell about, when the green grass comes." Gene,
thinking blissfully of the tented life, sprawled his long legs toward
the snapping blaze and crooned dreamily, while without the blizzard
raged more fiercely, a verse from an old camp song:

"Out on the roundup, boys, I tell yuh what yuh get
Little chunk uh bread and a little chunk uh meat;
Little black coffee, boys, chuck full uh alkali,
Dust in your throat, boys, and gravel in your eye!
So polish up your saddles, oil your slickers and your guns,
For we're bound for Lonesome Prairie when the green grass comes."

CHAPTER X. THE CHINOOK

One night in late March a sullen, faraway roar awakened Thurston in
his bunk. He turned over and listened, wondering what on earth was the
matter. More than anything it sounded like a hurrying freight train only
the railroad lay many miles to the north, and trains do not run at large
over the prairie. Gene snored peacefully an arm's length away. Outside
the snow lay deep on the levels, while in the hollows were great, white
drifts that at bedtime had glittered frostily in the moonlight. On the
hill-tops the gray wolves howled across coulees to their neighbors, and
slinking coyotes yapped foolishly at the moon.

Thurston drew the blanket up over his ears, for the fire had died to a
heap of whitening embers and the cold of the cabin made the nose of
him tingle. The roar grew louder and nearer-then the cabin shivered and
creaked in the suddenness of the blast that struck it. A clod of dirt
plumbed down upon his shoulder, bringing with it a shower of finer
particles. "Another blizzard!" he groaned, "and the worst we've had yet,
by the sound."

The wind shrieked down the chimney and sought the places where the
chinking was loose. It howled up the coulees, putting the wolves
themselves to shame. Gene flopped over like a newly landed fish, grunted
some unintelligible words and slept again.

For an hour Thurston lay and listened to the blast and selfishly thanked
heaven it was his turn at the cooking. If the storm kept up like that,
he told himself, he was glad he did not have to chop the wood. He
lifted the blanket and sniffed tentati