Ridgway nodded silently. He knew that the stockman was dubious, as he himself was, about being able to make the return trip in safety. The horses were tired; so, too, were the men who had broken the heavy trail for so many miles, with the exception of Sam himself, who seemed built of whipcord and elastic. They would be greatly encumbered by the woman, for she would certainly give out during the journey. The one point in their favor was that they could follow a trail which had already been trodden down. Simon Harley helped his wife into the boy’s saddle on the back of the animal they had led, but his inexperience had to give way to Yesler’s skill in fitting the stirrups to the proper length for her feet. To Ridgway, who had held himself aloof during this preparation, the stockman now turned with a wave of his hand toward his horse. “You ride, Waring.” “No, I’m fresh.” “All right. We’ll take turns.” Ridgway led the party across the gulch, following the trail that had been swept by the slide. The cowboys followed him, next came Harley, his wife, and in the rear the cattleman. They descended the draw, and presently dipped over rolling ground to the plain beyond. The procession plowed steadily forward mile after mile, the pomes floundering through drifts after the man ahead. Chinn, who had watched him breasting the soft heavy blanket that lay on the ground so deep and hemmed them in, turned to his companion. “On the way coming I told you, Husky, we had the best man in Montana at our head. We got that beat now to a fare-you-well. We got the two best in this party, by crickey.” “He’s got the guts, all right, but there ain’t nothing on two legs can keep it up much longer,” replied the other. “If you want to know, I’m about all in myself.” “Here, too,” grunted the other. “And so’s the bronc.” It was not, however, until dusk was beginning to fall that the leader stopped. Yesler’s voice brought him up short in his tracks. “Hold on, Waring. The lady’s down.” Ridgway strode back past the exhausted cowboys and Harley, the latter so beaten with fatigue that he could scarce cling to the pommel of his saddle. “I saw it coming. She’s been done for a long time, but she hung on like a thoroughbred,” explained Yesler from the snow-bank where Aline had fallen. He had her in his arms and was trying to get at a flask of whisky in his hip-pocket. “All right. I’ll take care of her, Sam. You go ahead with your horse and break trail. I don’t like the way this wind is rising. It’s wiping out the path you made when you broke through. How far’s the ranch now?” “Close to five miles.” Both men had lowered their voices almost to a whisper. “It’s going to be a near thing, Sam. Your men are played out. Harley will never make it without help. From now on every mile will be worse than the last.” Yesler nodded quietly. “Some one has got to go ahead for help. That’s the only way.”