"I ’m squirmin’ in my clothes tryin’ to rub myself warm when I remember that flask of liquor. Th’ cork was out far enough for my teeth to get at it, an’ I drink a quarter of it quick. It’s an awful load—any other time it would ’a’ knocked me cold, for Cowan sold a lot worse stuff then than he does now. But it don’t phase me, except for takin’ most of th’ linin’ out of my mouth an’ throat. It warms me a li’l, an’ it makes my knees ache a li’l harder. But it don’t last long—th’ cold eats through me just as hard as ever a li’l later, an’ then I begin to see things an’ get sleepy. Cows an’ cayuses float around in th’ air, an’ I ’m countin’ money, piles of it. I get warm an’ drowsy an’ find myself noddin’. That scares me a li’l, an’ I fight hard ag’in it. If I go to sleep it’s all over. It keeps gettin’ worse, an’ I finds my eyes shuttin’ more an’ more frequent, an’ more an’ more frequent thinkin’ I don’t care, anyhow. An’ so I drifts along pullin’ at th’ bottle till it’s empty. That should ’a’ killed me, then an’ there—but it don’t even make me real drunk. Mebby I spilled some of it, my hands bein’ nothin’ but sticks. I can’t see more ’n five feet now, an’ my eyes water, which freezes on ’em. I ’ve given up all hope of hearin’ any shootin’. So I close th’ peekhole in th’ blanket an’ robe, drawin’ ’em tight to keep out some of th’ cold. I am sittin’ up stiff in th’ saddle, like a soldier, just from force of habit, and after a li’l while I don’t know nothin’ more. Pete says I was a corpse, froze stiff as a ramrod, an’ he calls me ghost for a long time in fun. But Pete was n’t none too clear in his head about that time. "Down at Li’l Timber, Hoppy managed to get under th’ shelter of that projectin’ ledge of rock on th’ south side of th’ bluff. Th’ snow an’ ice is whirlin’ under it because of a sort of back draft, but th’ wind don’t hit so hard. He ’s fightin’ that cayuse every foot, tryin’ to get to th’ cave at th’ west end, an’ disputin’ th’ right of way with th’ cows that are packed under it. There ’s firewood under that ledge an’ there ’s food on th’ hoof, an’ snow water for drink; so if he can make th’ cave he ’s safe. He ’s more worried about his supply of smokin’ tobacco than anythin’ else, so far as he ’s concerned.