The storm caught them as it has caught so many a wayfarer before and
since. The wintry season was not due for a full four weeks, but the
winter had thrust sign and season aside and made his regal entry after
his own ancient fashion. There came a crash of reverberating thunder, a
scurry in the thickening mass of black clouds, a drenching downpour of
rain. For twenty minutes they crouched in what scant shelter was
afforded them by a squat, wide-limbed cedar. Then the wind went ripping
off through the tree-tops, exacting its toll of flying twigs and leaving
in its wake a brief, hushed calm. Through the still air fell scattering
flakes of snow, big and unbroken and feathery. King's eyes were filled
with concern; his face was ominous like the face of the world about him.
Again Gloria's tired body was assured of rest; again King said
expressionlessly: "Come on." This time he helped her into the saddle,
being in haste and of no mind to wait for trifles. He hurried on ahead;
she followed on Buck listlessly, clinging to the saddle, her eyes often
shut.
For an hour it snowed. Though there was no sun it was not dark save in
the deeper cañons. Nor was it as cold as Gloria had thought it must
be--or else she was too tired to feel the pinch of the sharp air. But
presently the flakes grew fewer and then ceased utterly. Those that lay
on the ground or clung to branches melted swiftly; and with their
departure the last light of the day was gone. Now King led the horse and
Gloria rode through a gathering darkness. She wanted to ask why they did
not stop; why they did not turn back, but lacked the spirit. Now and
then she half dozed.
At last it was pitch dark and the rain was beginning again. King had
stopped and was helping her down. She was numb now in body; her brain
was numb. The rain hardened into a rattle of hail. Thereafter the air
softened and filled with swirling snow. Gloria could not see if they
were in an open valley or shut in by canon walls or upon the slope of a
mountain. Nor did she greatly care. She waited until King prepared some
kind of a shelter, and then went wordlessly to it; she felt fir-boughs
under her aching body and was, in pure animal fashion, conscious of
blanket and canvas over her and of a grateful warmth. Through a tangle
of bushes she saw the flicker of a small fire; she smelled coffee; she
drank half of the hot cup which he brought to her. Then she let go her
grip upon a wretched world and passed like a child into a heavy sleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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