"Were you ever snow blind?" asked Jack.
"Yes," replied Hugh, "I've been snow blind, but I never had a real bad attack. I've been so that I couldn't see, and the way my eyes hurt was something awful, but it always passed off in a few days. I never had an attack like I've seen some men have, where they would be blind and suffering for weeks at a time."
"Where are you going to look for that antelope, Hugh?" said Jack.
"Why, I think we might go up toward the head of the Basin and then swing over onto the east side. It's warm over there, and a good many antelope coming back in spring get over there and stop for a while before they scatter out through the Basin. We're likely to see plenty of them this morning, and if we do, it does seem to me that we might as well kill a couple. If you and me are going on a trip pretty soon there won't be anybody here to kill meat for the ranch."
"All right," said Jack, "I'd like first rate to kill an antelope again. It seems to me a long time since I've shot at one, and I'd like to find out whether I've forgotten how to shoot."
"Well," said Hugh, "you're not likely to have forgotten how to shoot, but your gun may be a little strange to you after such a long rest."
The two rode quietly along for some miles without seeing anything more than a few birds that rose from the brushy ravines which they passed, or an occasional coyote trotting over the whitened prairie on his way to some place to take his nap for the day. Down on the lake below could be seen many water fowl, and over it a great flock of these would rise and fly about in the air for a long time, and then alight again on the water. Sometimes the groups of birds formed a black spot in the sky, and then swinging out into long lines looked almost like the smoke of a locomotive carried off over the prairie. It was pleasant riding. Every moment it seemed to grow warmer and warmer, and the snow disappeared from the hills with startling rapidity.