"He leaves that fire an’ forces his cayuse to take him out in th’ storm again, finds that th’ arroyo is level full of snow, but has both banks swept bare. He passes them three rustlers in th’ next ten minutes—they won’t do no more cow-liftin’. Then he tries to turn back, but that’s foolish. So he drifts on, gettin’ a li’l loco by now. He ’s purty near asleep when he thinks he hears a shot. He fights his cayuse again, but can’t stop it, so he falls off an’ lets it drift, an’ crawls an’ fights his way back to where that shot was fired from. G—d only knows how he does it, but he falls over a cow an’ sees Lanky huggin’ its belly for th’ li’l warmth in th’ carcass. An’ he ought to ’a’ found him, after leavin’ his cayuse an’ turnin’ back on foot in that h—l storm! Th’ drifts was beginnin’ to make then—when th’ storm was over I saw drifts thirty feet high in th’ open; an’ in th’ valley there was some that run ’most to th’ top of th’ bluffs, an’ they’re near sixty feet high. "Well, Lanky is as crazy as him, an’ won’t let go of that cow, an’ they have a fight, which is good for both of ’em. Finally Lanky gets some sense in his head an’ realizes what Hoppy is tryin’ to do for him, an’ they go staggerin’ down wind, first one fallin’ an’ then th’ other. But they keep fightin’ like th’ game boys they are, neither givin’ a cuss for himself, but shore obstinate that he ’s goin’ to get th’ other out of it. That’s _our_ spirit; an’ we ’re proud of it, by G—d! Hoppy wraps th’ robe around Lanky, an’ so they stagger on, neither one knowin’ very much by that time. Th’ Lord must ’a’ pitied that pair, an’ admired th’ stuff He ’d put in ’em, for they bump into th’ line house kerslam, an’ drop, all done an’ exhausted. "Meanwhile Skinny’s hoppin’ around inside, prayin’ an’ cussin’ by streaks, every five minutes openin’ th’ door an’ firm’ off his Colt. He has tied th’ two ropes together, an’ frequent he ties one end to th’ door, th’ other to hisself, an’ goes out pokin’ around in th’ snow, hopin’ to stumble over his pardner. He ’s plumb forgot his bad shoulder long ago. Purty soon he opens th’ door again to shoot off th’ gun, an’ in streaks somethin’ between his laigs. He slams th’ door as he jumps aside, an’ then looks scared at Lanky’s sombrero! Mebby he’s slow hoppin’ outside an’ diggin’ them out of th’ drift that’s near covered ’em! Now, don’t think bad of Skinny. He dass n’t leave th’ house to search any distance, even if he could ’a’ seen anythin’. His best play is to stick there an’ shoot off his gun—Lanky might drift past if he was not there to signal. Skinny thought more of Lanky any time than he did of hisself, th’ emaciated match!