uter air was also here. Heaps and tongues of snow lay across the
floor. White ashes lay at the doors of both the stoves. The table was
gone, the chairs were gone. The interior was nearly denuded, so that
the abode lay like an abandoned house, drifted half full of dry, fine
powdered snow. And even this snow upon the floors had no tracks upon
its surface. There was no sign of life.

Awed, appalled, the two men stood, white and huge, in the middle of the
abandoned room, listening for that which they scarce expected to hear.
Yet from one of the side rooms they caught a moan, a call, a
supplication. Then from a door came a tall and white-faced figure with
staring eyes, which held out its arms to the taller of the
snow-shrouded forms and said: "Uncle, is it you? Have you come back?
We were so afraid!" From the room behind this figure came a voice
sobbing, shouting, blessing the name of the Lord. So they knew that
two were saved, and one was missing.

They pushed into the remaining room. "Auntie went away," said the tall
and white-faced figure, shuddering and shivering. "She went away into
her room. We could not find the fence any more. Uncle, is it you?
Come!" So they came to the bedside and saw Mrs. Buford lying covered
with all her own clothing and much of that of Mary Ellen and Aunt Lucy,
but with no robe; for the buffalo robes had all gone with the wagon, as
was right, though unavailing. Under this covering, heaped up, though
insufficient, lay Mrs. Buford, her face white and still and
marble-cold. They found her with the picture of her husband clasped
upon her breast.

"She went away!" sobbed Mary Ellen, leaning her head upon Franklin's
shoulder and still under the hallucination of the fright and strain and
suffering. She seemed scarce to understand that which lay before them,
but continued to wander, babbling, shivering, as her arms lay on
Franklin's shoulder. "We could not keep her warm," she said. "It has
been very, very cold!"

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE ARTFULNESS OF SAM

In the early days of Ellisville society was alike in costume and
custom, and as unsuspicious as it would have been intolerant of any
idea of rank or class. A "beef" was a beef, and worth eight dollars.
A man was a man, worth as much as his neighbour, and no more. Each man
mended his own saddle. Thus society remained until there ensued that
natural division which has been earlier mentioned, by which there
became establish