Beyond the outskirts of the village, Wentworth, _le vent soufflait_, if not more boisterously than in the city proper, with a sweep uninterrupted by dwelling houses, or other obstacles. Already the gloss and dazzle of snow, which had fallen but two days ago, was dulled by the dust, which whirlpools and hurricanes of rash, rushing winds had swept across the land for over a day and a half, after a three-foot fall of snow. In the afternoon a lull occurred; now again, at ten o’clock in the evening, the gale was up, tearing into the snow and throwing it into banks that left between them spaces of ground upon which uncovered grey-white snow lay scantily. _Musique fantastique de la neige_, snow-wind clamour, shrill shriek of cold, whiteness shattered by a highmoaning vermilion calliope wail. Where are the grey wolf packs? The herd of bison that thundered in catapulting panic across the plains? Fifty miles away lay the Indian reservation, with its degenerating remnants of a once wild and arrogant race. No evidence of will or desire remains for the eye to observe. Apathy and dull carelessness, without the consciousness of indifference, are all that can be discerned. Few farmers can be coming into the village for the next few days. Not till the snow has packed down so that horses can plow their way through the covered roads; not till need or the daring of more audacious souls has caused a few farmers to remake the roadways, will many leave their farm homeside fires to come and market in Wentworth. Salt pork and potatoes, salt pork and sauerkraut, milk and soggy bread, will suffice as a diet for German, Polish, Swedish, and unexpected farm families in these cold days surely, when they have sufficed as their main food always. To be sure, though, there is little doubt that Ike Sorensen will attempt to drive his faithful team to town from his ranch eight miles out. It’s not to be thought that either wind or snow, or cold, or rain, or heat, or hurricane, or blizzard, will keep old Ike from crusading forth for his weekly drunk-on. He will have his hard liquor though the world be crashing to its end.