semi-consciousness.

"We 're at the river, George!" he cried, jerking up the dangling head.
"Wake up, man! Wake up! Do you hear? We 'll have a fire in ten
minutes!"

The man made a desperate effort, bracing his hands on the horse's neck
and staring at his tormentor with dull, unseeing eyes.

"Oh, go to hell!" he muttered, and went down again.

Hamlin struck him twice, his chilled hand tingling to the blow, but the
inert figure never moved.

"No use, Sam. We 've got to get on, and thaw him out. Get up there,
you pony!"

The ghostly shape of the hill was to their right, and they circled its
base almost waist-deep in drift. This brought the wind directly into
their faces, and the horses balked, dragging back and compelling both
men to beat them into submission. Wasson was jerking at the bit, his
back turned so that he could see nothing ahead, but Hamlin, lashing the
rear animal with his quirt, still faced the mound, a mere dim shadow
through the mists of snow. He saw the flash of yellow flame that
leaped from its summit, heard the sharp report of a gun, and saw Wasson
crumble up, and go down, still clinging to his horse's rein. It came
so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that the single living man left scarcely
realized what had happened. Yet dazed as he was, some swift impulse
flung him, headlong, into the snow behind his pony, and even as he
fell, his numbed fingers gripped for the revolver at his hip. The
hidden marksman shot twice, evidently discerning only dim outlines at
which to aim; the red flame of discharge cut the gloom like a knife.
One ball hurtled past Hamlin's head; the other found billet in Wade's
horse, and the stricken creature toppled over, bearing its dead burden
with him. The Sergeant ripped off his glove, found the trigger with
his half-frozen fingers, and fired twice. Then, with an oath, he
leaped madly to his feet, and dashed straight at the silent hill.

CHAPTER XXVI

UNSEEN DANGER

Once he paused, blinded by the snow, flung up his arm, and fired,
imagining he saw the dim shape of a man on the ridge summit. There was
no return shot, no visible movement. Reckless, mad with rage, he
sprang up the wind-swept side, and reached the crest. It was deserted,
except for tracks already nearly obliterated by the fierce wind.
Helpless, baffled, the Sergeant stared about him into the driving
flakes, his ungloved, stiffening hand gripping the cold butt of his
Colt, ready for any emerg