r face was blue from the cold; her vitality was sapped. She
seemed to herself to have turned to ice below the hips. Outside the
misery of the moment her whole attention was concentrated on sticking
to the back of the horse. Numb though her fingers were, she must keep
them fastened tightly in the frozen mane of the animal. She recited her
lesson to herself like a child. She must stick on--she must--she must.

Whether she lost consciousness or not Sheba never knew. The next she
realized was that Swiftwater Pete was pulling her from the horse. He
dragged her into a cabin where Mrs. Olson lay crouched on the floor.

"Got to stable the horses," he explained, and left them.

After a time he came back and lit a fire in the sheet-iron stove. As the
circulation that meant life flooded back into her chilled veins Sheba
endured a half-hour of excruciating pain. She had to clench her teeth to
keep back the groans that came from her throat, to walk the floor and
nurse her tortured hands with fingers in like plight.

The cabin was empty of furniture except for a home-made table, rough
stools, and the frame of a bed. The last occupant had left a little
firewood beside the stove, enough to last perhaps for twenty-four hours.
Sheba did not need to be told that if the blizzard lasted long enough,
they would starve to death. In the handbag left in the stage were a box
of candy and an Irish plum pudding. She had brought the latter from the
old country with her and was taking it and the chocolates to the Husted
children. But just now the stage was as far from them as Drogheda.

Like many rough frontiersmen, Swiftwater Pete was a diamond in the
raw. He had the kindly, gentle instincts that go to the making of a
good man. So far as could be he made a hopeless and impossible situation
comfortable. His judgment told him that they were caught in a trap from
which there was no escape, but for the sake of the women he put a
cheerful face on things.

"Lucky we found this cabin," he growled amiably. "By this time we'd 'a'
been up Salt Creek if we hadn't. Seeing as our luck has stood up so far,
I reckon we'll be all right. Mighty kind of Mr. Last Tenant to leave us
this firewood. Comes to a showdown we've got one table, four stools, and
a bed that will make first-class fuel. We ain't so worse off."

"If we only had some food," Mrs. Olson suggested.

"Food!" Pete looked at her in assumed surprise. "Huh! What about all
that live stock I got in t