They brought up against a wire fence, and Vaughan, rousing from his apathy, tried to peer through the white, shifting wall of the storm. “You're a swell guide--not,” he remarked to the horse. “Now you, you hike down this fence till you locate a gate or a corner, or any darned thing; and I don't give a cuss if the snow does get in your eyes. It's your own fault.” Dixie, sneezing the snow from his nostrils, turned obediently; Chub, his feet dragging wearily in the snow, trailed patiently behind. Half an hour of this, and it seemed as if it would go on forever. Through the swirl Vaughan could see the posts standing forlornly in the snow, with sixteen feet of blizzard between; at no time could he distinguish more than two or three at once, and there were long minutes when the wall stood, blank and shifting, just beyond the first post. Then Dixie lifted his head and gazed questioningly before him, his ears pointed forward--sentient, strained--and whinnied shrill challenge. He hurried his steps, dragging Chub out of the beginnings of a dream. Vaughan straightened and took his hands from his pockets. Out beyond the dim, wavering outline of the farthest post came answer to the challenge. A mysterious, vague shape grew impalpably upon the strained vision; a horse sneezed, then nickered eagerly. Vaughan drew up and waited. “Hello!” he called cheerfully. “Pleasant day, this. Out for your health?” The shape hesitated, as though taken aback by the greeting, and there was no answer. Vaughan, puzzled, rode closer. “Say, don't talk so fast!” he yelled. “I can't follow yuh.” “Who--who is it?” The voice sounded perturbed; and it was, moreover, the voice of a woman. Vaughan pulled up short and swore into his collar. Women are not, as a rule, to be met out on the blank prairie in a blizzard. His voice, when he spoke again, was not ironical, as it had been; it was placating. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I thought it was a man. I'm looking for the Cross L; you don't happen to know where it is, do yuh?” “No--I don't,” she declared dismally. “I don't know where any place is. I'm teaching school in this neighborhood--or in some other. I was going to spend Sunday with a friend, but this storm came up, and I'm--lost.” “Same here,” said Rowdy pleasantly, as though being lost was a matter for congratulation. “Oh! I was in hopes--” “So was I, so we're even there. We'll have to pool our chances, I guess. Any gate down that way--or haven't you followed the fence?” “I followed it for miles and miles--it seemed. It must be some big field of the Cross L; but they have so very many big fields!” “And you couldn't give a rough guess at how far it is to the Cross L?”--insinuatingly. He could vaguely see her shake of head. “Ordinarily it should be about six miles beyond Rodway's, where I board. But I haven't the haziest idea of where Rodway's place is, you see; so that won't help you much. I'm all at sea in this snow.” Her voice was rueful.