Presently he dismissed thoughts of this and set Dick wading across the ford.  Yonder he now could see the three bare cottonwoods, with the low adobe house near by where he and Dave had lived and laboured at the surveys for the project.  The bones of his dog Mike, too, rested there under the ground.  This brought to mind the meeting with Louise upon the road—­and it was Louise to whom at this moment he was going.  He began to urge Dick to greater efforts.  Once on a stretch of road, bare and wind-swept, he pushed him into a gallop.  It seemed interminable, this snow-bound trail.  But at last he crossed Sarita Creek (with but a single glance at the canon’s mouth where the two cabins stood untenanted and abandoned among the naked trees) and then covered the long miles to Diamond Creek, and rode up the lane between the rows of cottonwoods to the house, where Louise, who had perceived his approach from a window, appeared at the door to greet him.

“We were terribly alarmed for your safety the night of the blizzard,” she said, “but the mail-man finally made his trip to Bartolo and back, and said you were still there and not blown away.  And he also stated that you were working night and day.”

“Not any more,” said Lee, swinging from the saddle.

“You have finished!  I can read it on your face!” she cried, joyfully.

“Yes; we threw out the last clod at one o’clock this morning.”

“I needn’t tell you that I’m proud and happy; you know that, Lee.  Even happier than when I learned you were able to continue, at the time you supposed you were unable.  Put up your horse and come in.  You’re half frozen.”

Bryant endeavoured to discover from her face what he wished to know, but did not succeed.  So he asked: 

“Have you had your mail lately?”

“Not for three days.  The mail-man made one trip and then the next snow closed the road again to Kennard.”

Lee went off to stable Dick.  On his return he found Louise at the door still waiting, and she helped him to remove his overcoat and scarf when they passed in to the fire.  Then they pushed a divan forward and she bade him spread out his hands before the blaze.

“It wasn’t so long ago that we agreed we mustn’t see each other again, and here we are together,” he stated, with a pretense of solemnity.  He extended his hands to the heat and moved his fingers about to expel their numbness.  “I don’t know what your father would say if he knew all the circumstances.”

“I—­I don’t know, either,” Louise stammered, in dismay at the thought.

“How’s Imogene?” he inquired.

“Improving slowly.  All she needed was to get away from that horrid cabin and horrid—­well, surroundings.”

“And your father’s here?”

“At one of the feed corrals, I think.  He had all the cattle rounded up before the blizzard and held here and fed.  A big task, with several thousand head.”