But when they got around the corner they were not all right.  At such times the mind of man is thrown off its balance, so that it does strange and irregular things.  Both these men had agreed a moment ago that the wind should be on the right; now they disagreed, one thinking that Hancock’s house was to the left, the other to the right, their ideas as to the direction of the Buford ranch being equally at variance.  The horses decided it, breaking once again down wind, and striking a low-headed, sullen trot, as though they would out-march the storm.  And so the two argued, and so they rode, until at last there was a lurch and a crash, and they found themselves in rough going, the sled half overturned, with no fence, no house, no landmark of any sort visible, and the snow drifting thicker than before.  They sprang out and righted the sled, but the horses doggedly pulled on, plunging down and down; and they followed, clinging to reins and sled as best they might.

Either accident or the instinct of the animals had in some way taken them into rough, broken country, where they would find some shelter from the bitter level blast.  They were soon at the bottom of a flat and narrow valley, and above them the wind roared and drove ever on a white blanket that sought to cover them in and under.

“We’ve lost the trail, but we done the best we could,” said Sam doggedly, going to the heads of the horses, which looked questioningly back at him, their heads drooping, their breath freezing upon their coats in spiculae of white.

“Wait!” cried Franklin.  “I know this hole!  I’ve been here before.  The team’s come here for shelter—­”

“Oh, it’s the White Woman breaks—­why, sure!” cried Sam in return.

“Yes, that’s where it is.  We’re less than half a mile from the house.  Wait, now, and let me think.  I’ve got to figure this out a while.”

“It’s off there,” said Sam, pointing across the coulee; “but we can’t get there.”

“Yes, we can, old man; yes, we can!” insisted Franklin.  “I’ll tell you.  Let me think.  Good God! why can’t I think?  Yes—­see here, you go down the bottom of this gully to the mouth of the coulee, and then we turn to the left—­no, it’s to the right—­and you bear up along the side of the draw till you get to the ridge, and then the house is right in front of you.  Listen, now!  The wind’s north-west, and the house is west of the head of the coulee; so the mouth is east of us, and that brings the wind on the left cheek at the mouth of the coulee, and it comes more and more on the right cheek as we turn up the ridge; and it’s on the front half of the right cheek when we face the house, I’m sure that’s right—­wait, I’ll mark it out here in the snow.  God! how cold it is!  It must be right.  Come on; come!  We must try it, anyway.”

“We may hit the house, Cap,” said Sam calmly, “but if we miss it we’ll go God knows where!  Anyhow, I’m with you, an’ if we don’t turn up, we can’t help it, an’ we done our best.”