"You're right, old man. We'll wait," he said sternly. "Now to get ready. Have you a corral?"
The other made a gesture with his hand.
"Twenty rod b'low, under the bluff."
"We 'll drive the horses down, feed and water them. But first come with me; there is a half-frozen man up yonder."
They ploughed through the snow together, choking and coughing in the thick swirl of flakes that beat against their faces. The three horses, powdered white, stood tails to the storm, with heads to the bluff, while the drifts completely covered Carroll. He was sleeping, warm in the blankets, and the two men picked him up and stumbled along with their burden to the shelter of the cabin. Then Hughes faced the blizzard again, leading the horses to the corral, while Hamlin ministered to the semi-conscious soldier, laying him out upon a pile of soft skins, and vigorously rubbing his limbs to restore circulation. The man was stupid from exposure, and in some pain, but exhibited no dangerous symptoms. When wrapped again in his blankets, he fell instantly asleep. Hughes returned, mantled with snow, and, as the door opened, the howl of the storm swept by.
"No better outside?"
"Lord, no! Worse, if anything. Wind more east, sweepin' the snow up the valley. We 'll be plum shet up in an hour, I reckon. Hosses all right, though."
In the silence they could hear the fierce beating against the door, the shrieking of the storm-fiend encompassing them about.