A little later Edgar led two powerful horses up the narrow trail, and for a while the men worked hard, stacking the logs upon the sledge. Then they set off at the best pace the team could make, and the cold struck through them when they left the bluff.
"Stinging, isn't it?" Edgar remarked. "I couldn't get over earlier; Flett turned up, half frozen, and he kept me. Seems to have some business in this neighborhood, though he didn't say what it is."
George, walking through the snow to leeward of the loaded sledge, where it was a little warmer, betrayed no interest in the news. Temperance reform was languishing at Sage Butte and its leaders had received a severe rebuff from the authorities. The police, who had arrested an Indian suspected of conveying liquor to the reservation, had been no more successful, for the man had been promptly acquitted. They had afterward been kept busy investigating the matter of the shooting of George's bull, which had recovered; but they had found no clue to the offender, and nothing of importance had happened for some time.
It had grown dark and the wind was rapidly increasing. Powdery snow drove along before it, obscuring the men's sight and lashing their tingling faces. At times the icy white haze whirled about them so thick that they could scarcely see the blurred dark shape of the sledge, but as they had hauled a good many loads of stovewood home, the trail was plainly marked. It would be difficult to lose it unless deep snow fell. With lowered heads and fur caps pulled well down, they plodded on, until at length George stopped where the shadowy mass of a bluff loomed up close in front of them.
"I'll leave you here and make for the shack," he said. "I want to see if there are any letters."
"It's far too risky," Edgar pointed out. "You'll get lost as soon as you leave the beaten trail."
"I'll have the bluff for a guide, and it isn't far from the end of it to the small ravine. After that I shouldn't have much trouble in striking the fallow."
"It's doubtful," Edgar persisted. "Let the letters wait until to-morrow."
"No," said George, resolutely. "I've waited a week already; the mail is late. Besides, we'll have worse snow before morning."
Seeing that he had made up his mind, Edgar raised no more objections, and in another few moments George disappeared into a haze of driving snow. When he left the trail he found walking more difficult than he had expected, but though it was hard to see beyond a few yards, he had the bluff to guide him and he kept along the edge of it until the trees vanished suddenly. Then he stopped, buffeted by the wind, to gather breath and fix clearly in his mind the salient features of the open space that he must cross.