Page:St. Nicholas, vol. 40.1 (1912-1913).djvu/413

1913.] A rapid movement of the tail and a low whine attested Pard’s loyal sympathy.

The cloud over Old Grayback soon obscured the entire sky. Presently Kane felt fine particles of snow strike his face, and the path soon became slippery and difficult to keep.

“This is going back two steps to one forward, Pard!” he laughed, recovering from measuring his full length on an icy rock.

The wind, accompanied by a steadily falling temperature, increased in power every minute, driving the now rapidly descending snow before it. Kane pulled his cap down to protect his eyes and struggled on.



The snow soon came down in blinding sheets, entirely blotting out the trail. Pard kept close to his master, frequently whining his disapproval of the storm.

Suddenly Kane realized that he had strayed from the trail and was stumbling along half-blindly down a cañon over rocks and tangled bushes. Here the trees broke the fierce, biting force of the wind. But he had no idea which way to turn to find the path that he had lost. All around and enwrapping him was a mass of roaring, smothering whiteness.

Kane had lived most of his years among the Rockies, but he had never before been lost in one of their wild winter storms. He knew, however, that his situation was one of great danger. Unless he could find shelter, he might become buried under the snow, or stumble over a ledgeinto an unseen gorge. Then there might be a terrible snow-slide from the overladen heights above. He could see scarcely ten yards in any direction, and in spite of the overcoat, he began to feel chilled. He was presently so leg-weary that he felt inclined to crawl under the shelving rocks and lie down.

Realizing how fatal such a step might prove, Kane fought his way across the snow-clad cañon, followed by Pard.

All at once the collie gave a sharp bark and darted away through the trees, reappearing almost immediately and barking up at Kane as if insisting on his following.

“All right, Pard. Lead on!” directed Kane.

Only a short distance farther, a long shed loomed vague and specter-like in the wild whiteness of the evening. Pushing forward, Kane discovered that it was a rude but comfortable building for stock. It stood in an arm of the cañon with no house in sight.

Thankful for anything that promised refuge from the storm, he advanced hurriedly. At the corner of the building, he halted quickly: a herd of sheep huddled against the closed door.

Kane’s appearance was greeted by a plaintive chorus of bleats. In their dumb, beseeching way they accepted him as their belated shepherd.

“All right, sheepsie-baas,” he said soothingly as they crowded about him. “Wait and I ’ll see how things are.”

Sliding back the big door, Kane revealed a