"Why, didn't she come with you, Mr. Warden? She told me she intended to." And then her face blanched at the wild excitement Warden betrayed. "She isn't with you--you didn't meet her? Oh, she'll be frozen to death in this terrible storm!" "Damn you!" cursed Warden, gripping the woman's arm until she cried out in pain; "didn't I tell you not to let her go alone--anywhere?" He released the woman and plunged out, running blindly back to the stable. He collided with Singleton at the stable door. His face was ghastly, his eyes bulging. "Della's gone, Singleton!" he gasped. "She went to town. For God's sake, get those saddles on again! We've got to go back!" "Warden, it can't be done," said Singleton in a low voice; "you'd freeze to death before you went a mile. There ain't any man can face that storm an' live. Man," he added when Warden made a violent gesture of impatience; "use your reason. We've just come five miles, with the wind at our backs--an' we're half froze. Lefty just told me that Miss Della left about three hours ago. If that's the case she's likely in town, snug an' warm, somewheres. We'd ought to have nosed around a little before we left, but we didn't, an' mebbe she rode right by your place, thinkin' to stop in on the way back. You left early, you know. Anyway, Warden, if she's in town she'll stay there till the storm is over--snug an' warm. And if she didn't go to town there wouldn't be no use lookin' for her. Why, man, look out there! you can't see your hand before you!" Warden raged insanely, stalking back and forth through the stable; and finally to the ranchhouse again, where he bitterly arraigned Aunt Hannah. But in the end he stayed in the ranchhouse, close beside a window, out of which he watched until the night came to shut off his view of the great, white world. Over at the Circle L ranchhouse were other anxious watchers--men whose steady eyes held a haunting gleam of worry, and whose rugged faces grew grim and long as the days passed and the storm did not abate. From their bunkhouse they watched, day and night, for the end; their horses ready, heavy clothing at hand for a plunge into the white waste that stretched on all sides of them. Had they known which way Lawler had gone when he left the Circle L they would have searched for him despite the frigid danger that gripped the world. But Lawler had gone, leaving no word; and there was nothing the men could do. Through a window in the Circle L ranchhouse anxious eyes peered also--those of a gray-haired woman with a kindly, gentle face into which, as the long days passed, came lines that had not been there before. And yet in the watching eyes was a gleam of hope--of calm confidence in the big son who was somewhere in the white waste--a conviction that he was safe, that he would survive and return to her. CHAPTER XXIII A WOMAN'S WILES