d dimples, sparkling with the sunshine of life
like the wavelets of a glassy sea. But there was in her an instinctive
shrinking from all pain and harshness. When her little world refused to
smile, as very rarely it did for her, she shut her eyes, stopped her
ears, and pouted. Against the implacable condition that confronted them
now she could only whimper her despair.

They waited with loose reins for the ponies to move. The storm beat upon
them, confining their vision to a space within reach of their
outstretched arms. Only the frightened wails of Joyce and the comforting
words of her friend could be heard in the shriek of the wind. The
ponies, feeling themselves free, stirred restlessly. Moya clucked to her
roan and patted his neck encouragingly.

"Good old Billy. Take us home, old fellow," she urged.

Presently the horse began to move, aimlessly at first, but soon with a
steadiness that suggested purpose. Moya unloosed with her chill fingers
the rope coiled to her saddle, and threw one end to her friend.

"Tie it tight to the saddle horn, Joyce--with a double knot," she
ordered. "And keep your hand on it to see that it doesn't come undone."

"I can't tie it. My hands are frozen ... I'm freezing to death."

Moya made fast one end of the rope and then slipped from the saddle. The
other end she tied securely to the saddle horn of her friend. She
stripped from her hands the heavy riding gauntlets she wore and gave
them to Joyce.

"Pull these on and your hands will be warmer. Don't give up. Sit tight
and buck up. If you do we'll be all right."

"But I can't.... It's awful.... How far do we have to go?"

"We'll soon hit the road. Then we can go faster."

Moya swung to her saddle again stiffly, and Billy took up the march in
the driving storm, which was growing every minute more fierce and
bitter. The girl did not dare give way to her own terror, for she felt
if she should become panic-stricken all would be lost. She tried to
remember how long people could live in a blizzard. Had she not read of
some men who had been out two days in one and yet reached safety?

The icy blast bit into her, searched through to her bones and sapped her
strength. More than once she drew up the rope with her icy hands to make
sure that Joyce was still in the saddle. She found her there blue from
exposure, almost helpless, but still faintly responsive to the call of
life.

The horses moved faster, with more certainty, so that Moya fe