Maud Barrington made no answer, but she was sensible of a respect which appeared quite unwarranted for the dryly-spoken man, who, though she guessed her words stung him now and then, bore them without wincing.  While she sat silent, shivering under her furs, darkness crept down.  The smoky cloud dropped lower, the horizon closed in as the gray obscurity rolled up to meet them across a rapidly-narrowing strip of snow.  Then she could scarcely see the horses, and the muffled drumming of their hoofs was lost in a doleful wail of wind.  It also seemed to her that the cold, which was already almost insupportable, suddenly increased, as it not infrequently does in that country before the snow.  Then a white powder was whirled into her face, filling her eyes and searing the skin, while the horses were plunging at a gallop through a filmy haze, and Winston, whitened all over, leaned forward with lowered head hurling hoarse encouragement at them.  His voice reached her fitfully through the roar of wind, until sight and hearing were lost alike as the white haze closed about them, and it was not until the wild gust had passed she heard him again.  He was apparently shouting, “Come nearer.”

Maud Barrington was not sure whether she obeyed him or he seized and drew her towards him.  She, however, felt the furs piled high about her neck and that there was an arm round her shoulder, and for a moment was sensible of an almost overwhelming revulsion from the contact.  She was proud and very dainty, and fancied she knew what this man had been, while now she was drawn in to his side, and felt her chilled blood respond to the warmth of his body.  Indeed she grew suddenly hot to the neck, and felt that henceforward she could never forgive him or herself, but the mood passed almost as swiftly, for again the awful blast shrieked about them and she only remembered her companion’s humanity, as the differences of sex and character vanished under that destroying cold.  They were no longer man and woman, but only beings of flesh and blood, clinging desperately to the life that was in them, for the first rush of the Western snowstorm has more than a physical effect, and man exposed to its fury loses all but his animal instincts in the primitive struggle with the elements.

Then, while the snow folded them closely in its white embrace during a lull, the girl recovered herself, and her strained voice was faintly audible.

“This is my fault.  Why don’t you tell me so?” she said.

A hoarse laugh seemed to issue from the whitened object beside her, and she was drawn closer to it again.  “We needn’t go into that just now.  You have one thing to do, and that is to keep warm.”

One of the horses stumbled, the grasp that was around her became relaxed and she heard the swish of the whip followed by hoarse expletives, and did not resent it.  The man, it seemed, was fighting for her life as well as his own, and even brutal virility was necessary.  After that, there was a space of oblivion while the storm raged about them, until, when the wind fell a trifle, it became evident that the horses had left the trail.