“Oh, a little snow won’t hurt us. We’re neither sugar nor salt,” cried Lettie. “And chasing outlaws is awfully interesting,” and she giggled again, seeing her chum’s serious face.
“I guess we won’t wait long at that island to-night,” observed Sheriff Kimball, when he had backed the sleigh out of the shed and got the impatient horses headed around again.
“Will you go back by the river, or the road?” asked Mr. Parker.
“Oh, the river. This road is half bare yet, you see,” as the runners scraped over a “sand-bar.” “We’ll slip along on the ice twice as fast, you know. Come up, Dandy! Steady, Poke!”
The blacks got into step and they spun away along the short stretch of road and then down upon the river. At first they did not realize how hard the wind was blowing, being sheltered to a degree by the high bank. But when Mr. Kimball headed out into the middle of the stream, intending to cross to the Riverdale side of the river, the travelers quickly discovered that they were in the heart of a severe storm.
“Some blow—eh?” shouted Mr. Parker, into the sheriff’s ear.
“This is a bad storm, Parker. I—had—no—idea——”
He was having trouble with his spirited team. The gusts of wind which drove the snow down upon them, fired the blacks with a desire to run. They ran in the right direction for a while; but soon they were winded, for the sleigh pulled heavily through the gathering drifts.
There were flaws in the gale. Suddenly the wind shifted from point to point of the compass. The two men could not see a light upon either bank of the river. Indeed, before long it was difficult to know whether the horses were dragging them down the stream, or up.
The snow fell faster and faster. The girls, locked in each other’s arms on the rear seat, were covered with a fresh blanket. They did not know that the men in front robbed themselves to do this.