"Perception is what you see after you think, and I know that you're a man who thinks." "Thank you, colonel, but I reckon that in sech a war ez this a man hez jest got to set right plum' down, an' think sometimes. It's naterally forced upon him. Them that starts a war mebbe don't do much thinkin', but them that fights it hev to do a power uv it." "Your logic is sound, Mr. Reed." "I hev a pow'ful good eye, colonel, an' I think I see a man on top uv that high ridge to the right. But my eye ain't ez good ez your glasses, an' would you min' takin' a look through 'em? Foller a line from that little bunch of cedars to the crest." "Yes, it's a man. I can see him quite plainly. He has a big, gray shawl like your own, wrapped around his shoulders. Perhaps he's one of your friends." "I reckon so, but sence he ain't makin' no signs he ain't got nuthin' to tell. It wuz agreed that them that didn't know nuthin' wuz to keep it to theirselves while we rode on until we come to them that did. It saves time. Now he's gone, ain't he, colonel?" "Yes, something has come in between." "It's the first thin edge uv the mist. Them's clouds out thar in the northwest, floatin' over the mountings. I'm sorry, colonel, but more snow is comin'. The signs is too plain. Look through that gap an' see what big brown clouds are sailin' up! They're just chock full uv millions uv millions uv tons uv snow!" "You know your own country and its winter ways, Mr. Reed. How long will it be before the snow comes?" "Lend me your glasses a minute, colonel." He examined the clouds a long time through the powerful lenses, and when he handed them back he replied: "Them clouds are movin' up in a hurry, colonel. They hev saw us here ridin' into the mountings, an' they want to pour their snow down on us afore we git whar we want to go." Colonel Winchester looked anxious. "I don't like it," he said. "It doesn't suit cavalry to be plunging around in snowdrifts." "You're right, colonel. Deep snow is shorely hard on hosses. It looks ez ef we'd be holed up. B'ars an' catamounts, how them clouds are a-trottin' 'cross the sky! Here come the fust flakes an' they look ez big ez feathers!" The colonel's anxiety deepened, turning rapidly to alarm. "You spoke of our being holed up, Mr. Reed, what did you mean by it?" he asked.