Mountains, plain--the world of
white--had disappeared in the blinding onrush of snow and wind. A
chaos of driving particles comprised the universe. And by the token of
the brush underfoot they had wandered from the road. There had been no
attempt on the miner's part to follow any tracks they had left on their
westward course, for the gale and drift had obliterated every sign,
almost as soon as the horse's hoofs had ploughed them in the snow.
Believing that the narrow road across the desolation of the valley lay
to the right, he forged ahead in that direction. Soon they came upon
smoother walking, which he thought was an indication that the road they
sought was underfoot. It was not. He plodded onward for fifteen
minutes, however, before he knew he had made a mistake.
The storm was, if possible, more furious. The snow flew thicker; it
stung more sharply, and seemed to come from every direction.
"We'll stand right here behind the horse till it quits," he said. "It
can't keep up a lick like this."
But turning about, in an effort to face the animal away from the worst
of the blizzard, he kicked a clump of sage brush arched fairly over by
its burden of snow. Instantly a startled rabbit leaped from beneath
the shrub and bounded against the horse's legs, and then away in the
storm.
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