changed to sleet and sleet to snow. That
night brought winter.

Next morning, when Wade plodded up to Moore's cabin, it was through two
feet of snow. A beautiful glistening white mantle covered valley and
slope and mountain, transforming all into a world too dazzlingly
brilliant for the unprotected gaze of man.

When Wade pushed open the door of the cabin and entered he awakened the
cowboy.

"Mornin', Wils," drawled Wade, as he slapped the snow from boots and
legs. "Summer has gone, winter has come, an' the flowers lay in their
graves! How are you, boy?"

Moore had grown paler and thinner during his long confinement in bed. A
weary shade shone in his face and a shadow of pain in his eyes. But the
spirit of his smile was the same as always.

"Hello, Bent, old pard!" replied Moore. "I guess I'm fine. Nearly froze
last night. Didn't sleep much."

"Well, I was worried about that," said the hunter. "We've got to arrange
things somehow."

"I heard it snowing. Gee! how the wind howled! And I'm snowed in?"

"Sure are. Two feet on a level. It's good I snaked down a lot of
fire-wood. Now I'll set to work an' cut it up an' stack it round the
cabin. Reckon I'd better sleep up here with you, Wils."

"Won't Old Bill make a kick?"

"Let him kick. But I reckon he doesn't need to know anythin' about it.
It is cold in here. Well, I'll soon warm it up.... Here's some letters
Lem got at Kremmlin' the other day. You read while I rustle some
grub for you."

Moore scanned the addresses on the several envelopes and sighed.

"From home! I hate to read them."

"Why?" queried Wade.

"Oh, because when I wrote I didn't tell them I was hurt. I feel like a
liar."

"It's just as well, Wils, because you swear you'll not go home."

"Me? I should smile not.... Bent--I--I--hoped Collie might answer the
note you took her from me."

"Not yet. Wils, give the lass time."

"Time? Heavens! it's three weeks and more."

"Go ahead an' read your letters or I'll knock you on the head with one
of these chunks," ordered Wade, mildly.

The hunter soon had the room warm and cheerful, with steaming breakfast
on the red-hot coals. Presently, when he made ready to serve Moore, he
was surprised to find the boy crying over one of the letters.

"Wils, what's the trouble?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. I--I--just feel bad, that's all," replied Moore.

"Ahuh! So it seems. Well, tell me about it?"

"Pard, my father--has forgiven me."

"The old son-o