"Hurrah! hurrah!" "Folks, you snowed in?" "Thank God, you're all right." "The basket, boys, the basket."
"W'y, Lawd!" cried the section-boss, winking against the light; "ain't they no blizzard?"
A trooper with a chevroned sleeve saluted them. His air was jaunty. His face beamed. "There was, sir, last night," he said gaily, "but there hain't none now. Clear has ha bell, sir."
"Y' fr'm th' Post?" demanded Lancaster, trying to look severe.
He of the chevrons waved his companions out. "Hi'm from Hingland, sir," he answered. "Sergeant Kippis his my name. Will you 'ave some 'soldier's coffee,' sir?"
Dallas hurried past him and into the newly dug tunnel. Overhead was a serene sky. Between shack and river lay a dazzling mile of drifts. And midway, brisket deep, but advancing resolutely, and bugling at every floundering step, was Simon!