I had strange sensations, as though I could not breathe; I felt suffocated, as if smothered by the snow. It blew down my neck and sifted through my clothes; it filled my eyes and mouth. A dense white pall was about me. There was nothing to see—not a patch of grass, nor a stone, only a dense whiteness. I thought I was going blind; my head swam. So I began to shout, just to hear the sound of my own voice. Suddenly I felt tired and lost hope. I thought how good it would be to lie down in the snow; it was useless to fight that blizzard. I was roused by my horse floundering deep in a snowdrift. He struggled a moment; then lay still and began to groan. I struck him with my whip and tried to drag him out by the reins; I seized him by the neck and pushed him to and fro, trying to work him loose; I shouted and prodded him with my spurs. Roused by my rough treatment, he no longer groaned. He grunted and tried hard to free himself. And with my help, he finally struggled from the drift, shook himself, whinnied, sneezed several times to recover his composure, and was ready to move on. From that moment he was a different horse. At last came a lull in the storm. The wind went down and the snow ceased. Overhead the moon shone through lowflying clouds and gave me the right course. During that lull I crossed the plateau—just in time; the blizzard came from the northeast with greater force. But we were safe in the river valley, protected from the wind by high cutbanks, groves of big trees and thickets of willows. I knew my way and came safely back to Mad Wolf’s ranch. Throughout that night the blizzard raged. But my lodge with its inside fire was a safe refuge. In my warm blankets I felt a delicious surrender to fatigue; I fell asleep listening to the roar of the wind, the beating of snow and sleet. Next day, when I looked out, drifts were piled around the lodge, with the ground swept clear in spots. Dense clouds of snow were being driven by the gale and whirled high into the air; sky and plain were merged in a vast expanse of whiteness. During those long days of storm, my Indian father and his friends passed their time by the lodge-fire, telling legends and stories of adventure. They gossiped about friends and neighbors; talked of their daily life—horses and cattle, hunting, and religious ceremonies.