That day closed in fearful cold. The wind was become a furious gale. Sturdily, the log house withstood it. Only the roof seemed threatened. With each great blast, it lifted a little, as if on the point of whirling away. But when darkness came, even the roof settled into quiet. For the drifts that had been piling up gradually to the north and west of the shack, sealing the windows and the door, had risen to the grassy eaves and overflowed them, and so weighted the thatch. Next morning, long before Marylyn and her father wakened, Dallas roused. The room was in dusk, and its air was so cold that it seemed fairly to singe the skin. She could not read. Presently, Marylyn turned. The elder girl hastened to soothe her. Then, their father yawned. Dallas feigned sleep. But the evil moment could not be put off. Lancaster propped himself on an elbow and called to her. He was hungry. Very quietly, Dallas told him that there was no food. He grunted, arose and lighted the lantern. "You dish thet snow on th' floor," he commanded. "We'll need it fer drink." "What're _you_ going to do?" she asked, hastening to obey. Her voice was lowered apprehensively. He was wrapping some clothes over his shoes. "Butcher Simon," he said curtly. Her face became a white spot in the gloom. "Critter'll be tough, like's not," went on her father. "But y' c'n poun' th' meat." After a long wait, she spoke. "You can't reach him," she declared, half triumphantly. "Yas, Ah c'n," he answered. "Ah c'n chop through with th' hatchet." He was between the fireplace and a corner, feeling over the logs with his hands. She ran to him. "Oh, how can you think of it?" she demanded huskily. "Simon's so friendly and--came to us for a home. How can you kill him! Maybe _you_ could eat him, but _I_ couldn't. It'd just choke me!" "Oh, ain't we sof'!" sneered her father. He was fumbling about near the bunk, as if hunting something. "Mebbe y' 'd like Ah should kill a mule! Ha! ha! No mule-meat fer _me_. Ah'll give thet bull a tunk 'tween th' eyes, an' we'll hev steak." She stood in the dim light, one arm crooked up to cover her face. Presently, Marylyn moaned; then, Dallas lowered her arm and looked down at her sister. "One of the mules _would_ be easier," she said bitterly. But remembering the brown eyes of the team, and the long, grey-whiskered noses, she covered her face again. "Ah don' keer w'at y' say," declared her father. "We'll hev steak." He selected a log and began to hack at it. Shuddering, she sank to her knees, one hand reached out to touch Marylyn. "Maybe Charley'll come, honey," she whispered hopefully. "Maybe, maybe!" And now it seemed as if she heard something outside. She crept to the door. Around the latch was a little space. She put her ear to it, and the icy air blew against her cheek. There it was again! The shriek of the gale. She went back to the bed. _Hack!_ _hack!_ _hack!_ Then muttered curses. And again the sound of chopping.