"All at once I notice somebody ’s pullin’ a slate-covered blanket over th’ north sky, an’ I drag _my_ blanket out an’ wrap it around me. I ’m gettin’ blamed cold, an’ also a li’l worried. Shall I go back to Cowan’s or head straight for th’ bunkhouse? Cowan’s the nearest by three miles, but what’s three miles out here? It’s got a lot colder than it was when I was at Cowan’s, an’ while I ’m debatin’ about it th’ wind dies out. I look up an’ see that th’ slate-covered blanket has traveled fast. It’s ’most over my head, an’ th’ light is gettin’ poor. When I look down again I notice my cayuses’s ears movin’ back an’ forth, an’ he starts pawin’ an’ actin’ restless. That settles it. I ’m backin’ instinct just then, an’ I head for home. I ain’t cussin’ that blanket none now, an’ I ’m glad I got th’ robe handy; an’ that quart of liquor ain’t bulky no more. "All at once th’ bottom falls out of that lead sky, an’ flakes as big as quarters sift down so fast they hurts my eyes, an’ so thick I can’t see twenty feet. In ten minutes everythin’ is white, an’ in ten more I ’m in a strange country. My hands an’ feet ache with cold, an’ I ’m drawin’ th’ blanket closer, when there ’s a puff of wind so cold it cuts into my back like a knife. It passes quick, but it don’t fool me. I know what’s behind it. I reach for th’ robe an’ has it ’most unfastened when there ’s a roar an’ I ’m ’most unseated by th’ wind before I can get set. I did n’t know then that it’s goin’ to blow that hard for three days, an’ it’s just as well. It’s full of ice—li’l slivers that are sharp as needles an’ cut an’ sting till they make th’ skin raw. I let loose of th’ robe an’ tie my bandanna around my face, so my nose an’ mouth is covered. My throat burns already almost to my lungs. Good Lord, but it _is_ cold! My hands are stiff when I go back for th’ robe, an’ it’s all I can do to keep it from blowin’ away from me. It takes me a long time to get it over th’ blanket, an’ my hands are ’most froze when it’s fastened. That was a good robe, but it did n’t make much difference that day. Th’ cold cuts through it an’ into my back as if it was n’t there. My feet are gettin’ worse all th’ time, an’ it ain’t long before I ain’t got none, for th’ achin’ stops at th’ ankles. Purty soon only my knees ache, an’ I know it won’t be long till they won’t ache no more.