"Put your overcoat on to begin with," she said to Burns; "and get your horse. I'll see to Sunbeam." The bridle was already fast on the pretty black head as she spoke, but it was some time before Burns came up. He had mislaid his bridle, and when he found it he fumbled unaccountably. His fingers apparently shared the agitation of his mind; an agitation which was something new in his experience, and which made him feel singularly at odds with everything, even with impersonal straps and buckles! When at last he came, she put her foot in his hand and went up like a bird to a perch. "Everybody has got ahead of us," she said, as they put their horses into a canter. The sun was still hot upon them, but down below, the plains were obscured as with a fog. "What is that?" he asked. "A dust-storm. Can you make your horse go faster?" "Not and keep the wind in him." "Never mind, we shall do very well." They had come about the brow of the mountain now, and could see the great black cloud to the north. It looked pretty ugly, even to Stephen Burns's unaccustomed eyes. "What do you expect?" he asked, as they walked their horses down a sharp descent. "It may be only wind, but there is likely to be snow at this season. If we can only get out of the ranch we're all right; the prairie-dog holes make it bad when you can't see." "Can't see?" he repeated. "Yes," she answered impatiently. "Of course you can't see _in a blizzard_!" A moment later a blinding cloud of sand struck them with such force that both the horses slewed sharp about and stood an instant, trembling with the shock. As they turned to the north again, a few flakes of snow came flying almost horizontally in their faces and then--the storm came! Horses and riders bent their heads to the blast, and on they went. It had suddenly grown bitterly cold. "I wish you would take my coat," said Stephen, fumbling at the buttons as he had fumbled at the bridle. His teeth were chattering as he spoke. "Nonsense!" Amy answered sharply. "You'll feel this ten times as much as I." The snow was collecting in Stephen's beard, freezing as it fell, and making fantastic shapes there; the top of Amy's hat was a white cone, stiff and sharp as if it were carved in stone. They could not see a rod before them, but they found it easier to breathe now. "Isn't it splendid, the way one rouses to it!" Amy exclaimed. "I'm getting all heated up from the effort of breathing!" There was no answer. "Don't you like it?" she asked, taking a look at his set face. "Like it? With you out in it!" That was all he said, but Amy felt her cheeks tingle under the dash of snow that clung to them. The answer came like a rude check to the exultant thrill which had prompted her words.