re but counting parties. The wolves had new feed that
winter, and for years remembered it, coming closer about the
settlements, sometimes following the children as they went to school.
The babe that touched with laughter the cool, soft thing that fell upon
its cheek lay finally white and silent beneath a coverlid of white, and
upon the floor lay others also shrouded; and up to the flapping door
led tracks which the rescuing parties saw.

Sam Poston, the driver of the regular mail stage to the south, knew
more of the condition of the settlers in that part of the country than
any other man in Ellisville, and he gave an estimate which was
alarming. There was no regular supply of fuel, he stated, and it was
certain that the storm had found scores of families utterly unprepared.
Of what that signifies, those who have lived only in the routine of old
communities can have no idea whatever. For the most of us, when we
experience cold, the remedy is to turn a valve, to press a knob, to ask
forthwith for fuel. But if fuel be twenty miles away, in a sea of
shifting ice and bitter cold, if it be somewhere where no man may reach
it alive--what then? First, we burn the fence, if we can find it.
Then we burn all loose things. We burn the chairs, the table, the bed,
the doors-- Then we rebel; and then we dream.

Sam Poston came into the office where Franklin sat on Christmas eve,
listening to the clinking rattle of the hard snow on the pane. Sam was
white from head to foot. His face was anxious, his habitual
uncertainty and diffidence were gone.

"Cap," said he, with no prelude, "the whole country below'll be froze
out. This blizzard's awful."

"I know it," said Franklin. "We must get out with help soon as we can.
How far down do you think the danger line begins?"

"Well, up to three or four miles out it's thicker settled, an' most o'
the folks could git into town. As fur out as thirty mile to the south,
they might git a little timber yet, over on the Smoky. The worst strip
is fifteen to twenty-five mile below. Folks in there is sort o'
betwixt an' between, an' if they're short o' fuel to-day they'll have
to burn anything they can, that's all, fer a feller wouldn't last out
in this storm very long if he got lost. It's the worst I ever see in
the West."

Franklin felt a tightening at his heart. "About fifteen to twenty-five
miles?" he said. Sam nodded. Both were silent.

"Look here, Cap," said the driver presen