The storm steadily increased. Its lashings of sleet grew each hour more
furious. The cabin did not reel, for it sat close in a socket of
sods--it endured in the rush of snow like a rock set in the swash of
savage seas. The icy dust came in around the stovepipe and fell in a
fine shower down upon Bailey's hands, fell with a faintly stinging
touch, and the circle of warmth about the fire grew less wide each hour.
"If the horses don't all freeze we'll be in luck," said he.
The stove roared as a chained leopard might do in answer to a lion
outside. Slender mice came from their dark corners and skittered across
the floor before the silent men, their sleek sides palpitating with
timorous excitement.
Bailey hovered over the stove, trying to figure up some accounts. Rivers
sat beside Blanche. With watchful care he kept her shawl upon her
shoulders and her feet wrapped in a blanket. He spoke to her now and
then in a voice inaudible to Bailey, who studied them with an occasional
keen glance.
"Well, now," he said, at last, "no use sitting here like images; we
might as well turn in.
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