We found a place where a smooth trail crossed the gully. This we followed until it broadened out and was lost in the prairie grass.
The sky was now a dull slate color, and little feathery flakes of snow were falling. I could see a dark streak in the distance, which I knew must be timber. Instinct taught me that here we should find shelter, and towards this we were hurrying. Little drifts of snow were gathering in Polly’s flaxen hair, and her hands were purple from cold. She stumbled often, sometimes quite falling down, but she would get up and struggle on. The timber still seemed a great way off, when Polly stopped.
“It is no use for me to try, Lopez,” she said; “I can’t go any further. You will have to go on alone,” and she sank down into the snowy grass.
Now, this was a terrible fix to be in. The storm was growing worse every minute, and I knew that it must be almost night. I would run around Polly and stamp my feet, then rub my nose against her face, trying to persuade her to get up and go on, but she would only say, “Poor Lopez, I can’t go any further.” After awhile she would not notice me; then I knew she was asleep.
A feeling of despair was coming over me, when I saw two men, riding toward the timber. I ran out, so that I was directly in their path, and stood facing them, stamping my feet. It was evident that they were watching me with some interest, and when they were near me the older of the two exclaimed, “Why, that is Polly Vinson’s pet antelope. Rope him, Bob, and we will take him home!”
The young man loosened a coil of rope from the pommel of his saddle and began to swing a loop above his head; but before the loop could descend I sprang away and ran to where Polly was lying, now almost covered with snow. The two men started on, and I ran round and round and stamped my feet. I was almost frantic.
They stopped again, and the younger one came to us. He got off his horse and bent over Polly, then turned and called to his companion, who was now coming toward us:
“Mr. Dawson, here is little Polly herself, and I fear she is dead.” He lifted Polly up and shook her, rather roughly, I thought. “Polly! Polly!” he cried, “wake up and tell me how you came here.”
Polly opened her eyes and sleepily looked at the young man. “Oh, Mr. Bob,” she said wearily, “Lopez and I are lost. Won’t you please take us home?” Then she leaned her head against him and closed her eyes again.
He quickly pulled off his overcoat and wrapped it around Polly, and handed her up to the older man. Then, tying the end of his rope through my collar he mounted his horse, when we started swiftly toward the timber. To be tied was an indignity that I had never before submitted to, but now I was so glad to have some help with Polly that I made no resistance.