“You don’t feel much like talking, do you?”

“No,” he said.  “According to the way this norther is whooping it up we’ll run out of talk before we can break trail out of here.”

“Do you mean that the storm may last some days?”

“There is no telling.  At this time of the year they are mighty uncertain.  I’ve known them to stick around for a month or more.”

She sat very silent, and for a time did not even move her lips.  Stealing a swift glance at her, expecting to see a worried light in her eyes, Lawler noted that there was a slight—­a very slight smile on her lips.

He was amazed, incredulous, and he stole another glance at her to make certain.  There was no denying it—­there was a smile in the eyes that were gazing meditatively past him into the fire; a smile on her lips—­giving him proof that the prospect of remaining alone in the cabin with him had not crushed her—­had not brought the hysterical protests that he had feared.  She was plainly pleased, possibly considering the thing an adventure which would have no damaging consequences.

With a malice in his eyes that she did not see—­for he looked gravely at her, he said, slowly: 

“Listen, Miss Wharton!”

He raised a hand and looked at the north window.  Following his gaze she saw the snow whipping against the glass, rattling against the panes like small hailstones hurled with frightful velocity.  The incessant droning whine of the wind reached their ears, deep in volume as though it would tell them of its interrupted sweep across the vast plains; as though to convince them of its unlimited power and ferocity.  She knew as well as he that the big drifts around the cabin had grown bigger; that other drifts were forming around the walls.  For the sounds were muffled, and a great, weird calm had settled inside the cabin.  The walls, snow-banked, were deadening outside sound.

“A man couldn’t go half a mile in that, now, Miss Wharton.  And it will be days before anybody can reach us.  I am afraid we are in for a long spell of monotony.”

“Well,” she said, gazing straight at him; a glow in her eyes that puzzled him; “we can’t help it, can we?  And I suppose we shall have to make the best of it.”

Lawler, however, did not expect the storm to last more than a day or so.  They seldom did, at this time of the year.  He had drawn the gloomy picture merely in an attempt to force Miss Wharton to realize the indelicacy of her position.  He had thought she would have exhibited perturbation.  Instead, she was calm and plainly unworried.

Puzzled, Lawler leaned an elbow on the table and scowled into the fire.  There was no apparent reason why he should object to remaining in the cabin with a pretty woman who did not seem eager to leave it.  And yet he was afflicted with a grave unrest.

Givens and Link were in the dugout, and presently they would return to the cabin.  They would have to remain in the cabin, for it would be inhuman of him to compel them to stay very long in the dugout with the horses.  Thus was Miss Wharton shielded against the impropriety of staying for any length of time in the cabin with him, alone.