"Sure I am, but I honestly think he'll come back all right."
"How long do you think this old ankle will lay me up?"
"A week maybe."
"A week, your grandmother's eye. Bet you I walk on it tomorrow."
"Maybe, but I doubt it."
During the past half hour Bob had been conscious that the wind was rising steadily and the fact caused him no little uneasiness. If they should have another blizzard before the Indian returned it would make their lot doubly hard. As he went outside to replenish the fire he cast an anxious eye upward and his fears were increased when he was unable to see any stars.
"I believe it's going to snow again," he muttered as he threw a big log on the fire.
As he again looked up a flake of snow struck his face and he turned back and entered the tepee with a sinking heart.
"How's the weather?" Jack asked.
"Not so good."