"Dern ther luck, I says," growled Bud. "How fur aire we from ther ranch?"
"The worst of it is we're right on it. The ranch house isn't more than three miles from here, and if we could have got there we would have been all right. By morning we may be ten miles away, if we let the herd drift, and we'll have a dickens of a time getting the brutes back through the snow."
"What aire we goin' ter do with the wimminfolks?"
"I'm going to try to get them to the ranch house. You boys will have to make a snow camp, and hold the herd from drifting at all odds. Don't let them sneak on you. Keep pushing them from the south. You see, they're all turned that way now with their tails to the wind. As soon as they get cold they will begin to move. Don't let 'em do it."
"All right, Ted. We'll do the best we can. You take care o' ther wimminfolks. So long, an' good luck."
Ted rode back to where Mrs. Graham was shivering in the closed wagon the boys had provided for her, and Stella was sitting her pony by her side, trying to encourage her.
Carl Schwartz was the jehu of the outfit, and sat on the driver's seat, a fair imitation of a snow man.
"Carl, get a move on you. We're going to try to make the Long Tom ranch house," said Ted. "I'll lead, and you follow. If you lose sight of me, yell to me and I'll come back. I've got my pocket searchlight, and will send you back a flash now and then."
Carl was half frozen and would have been pleased to get down and walk the rest of the distance, but he knew the danger that surrounded them, and simply yelled back "Yah!" and gathered up the reins for a start.
"Come on, Stella," said Ted. "We're going to try to make the ranch house."