The Sergeant halted, examining his surroundings cautiously, expecting every instant to be fired upon by some unseen foe.  The violence of the storm prevented his seeing beyond a few yards, and the whirling snow crystals blinded him as he faced the fury of the wind sweeping down the valley.  Nothing met his gaze; no sound reached his ears; about him was desolation, unbroken whiteness.  Apparently they were alone in all that intense dreariness of snow.  The solemn loneliness of it—­the dark, silently flowing river, the dun sky, the wide, white expanse of plain, the mad violence of the storm beating against him—­brought to him a feeling of helplessness.  He was a mere atom, struggling alone against Nature’s wild mood.  Then the feeling clutched him that he was not alone; that from somewhere amid those barren wastes hostile eyes watched, skulking murderers sought his life.  Yet there was no sign of any presence.  He could not stand there and die, nor permit Carroll to freeze in his saddle.  It would be better to take a chance; perhaps the assassins had fled, believing their work accomplished; perhaps they had become confused by the storm.

Foot by foot, feeling his passage, he advanced down the gully, fairly dragging his own horse after him.  Behind, held by the straining lariat, lurched the others, the soldier swaying on the back of the last, swearing and laughing in delirium, clutching at snowflakes with his hands.  At the end of the ravine, under shelter of the bank, Hamlin trampled back the snow, herding the animals close, so as to gain the warmth of their bodies.  Here they were well protected from the cruel lash of the wind and the shower of snow which blew over them and drifted higher and higher in the open space beyond.  Working feverishly, the blood again circulating freely through his veins, the Sergeant hastily dragged blankets from the pack, and spread them on the ground, depositing Carroll upon them.  Then he set about vigorously rubbing the soldier’s exposed flesh with snow.  The smart of it, together with the roughness of handling, aroused the latter from lethargy, but Hamlin, ignoring his resentment, gripped the fellow with hands of iron, never ceasing his violent ministrations until his swearing ended in silence.  Then he wrapped him tightly in the blankets, and stood himself erect, glowing from the exercise.  Carroll glared up at him angrily out of red-rimmed eyes.

“I ’ll get you for that, you big boob!” he shouted, striving to release his arms from the clinging blankets.  “You wait!  I ’ll get you!”

“Hush up, George, and go to sleep,” the other retorted, poking the shapeless body with his foot, his thoughts already elsewhere.  “Don’t be a fool.  I ’ll get a fire if I can, and something hot into you.  Within an hour you ’ll be a man again.  Now see here—­stop that!  Do you hear?  You lie still right where you are, Carroll, until I come back, or I ’ll kick your ribs in!” He bent down menacingly, scowling into the upturned face.  “Will you mind, or shall I have to hand you one?”