Page:Honore Willsie--Judith of the godless valley.djvu/325

 third shoulder, he paused, appalled by the loneliness and danger of the position. The ridge had narrowed until its top offered barely a foothold, with sides dropping to unthinkable depths. The snow had blown clear and the wind was almost insupportable. A cedar stood before them like a sentinal [sic] guarding the eternal loneliness beyond. Tom made for this as if it were his last hope. As the horses brought up in the shelter of the tree, Douglas gave a hoarse cry of relief and dismounted. Some charred sticks and the remains of a cottontail had not yet blown away. Douglas examined the traces of the hasty camp, then chuckled.

"Safe so far! Some girl, my Judith!"

Then his jaw stiffened and he set the horses to the last shoulder below the Pass. Groaning, trembling, bloody flanks heaving, fighting constantly to turn, Tom, when Douglas sought to force him through the drift that topped the shoulder, deliberately lay down. Douglas freed himself from the stirrups and jerked the horse to his feet.

"I wouldn't own an ornery, unwilling brute like you, for a ranch!" he panted. "Do you think I'm enjoying this, that we are a bunch of dudes on a summer outing? I'll get angry at you in a moment, fellow!"

The pack-horse had embraced the opportunity to fall asleep. Tom, violently affronted by Doug's tirade, did his not inconsiderable best to kick his mate. Then he snapped at Douglas, who promptly cuffed him on the nose. Tom reared, fell, and began to roll down the terrible slope. The pack-horse did not waken nor stir. Doug flung himself after Tom. Slipping, falling, rolling, he finally caught the reins, and though Tom dragged him fifty yards on downward, he at last braced his spurs against a boulder, the reins held and Tom brought up,