"It's evident there are no buffalo down in the open, lads," spoke the lieutenant. "The doctor and I have sighted never a one nor any sign of one. The storm has driven them back and higher, into the timber. We'll make in the same direction, and be crossing the mountains while seeking meat."
He and the doctor led off, heading westward, to climb the Great White Mountains. The route commenced to get more rolling—up and down, up and down, over the rounded foothills concealed by the snow. 'Twas leg-wearying, breath-taking work. The snow grew deeper. In the hollows it had gathered shoulders high; upon the slopes it was waist high. The little column was straggling. Stub, the smallest member, trying to tread in the broken trail, was at times almost buried.
In an hour they all had covered a pitiful distance; to be sure, the prairie was somewhat below, but the real mountains seemed far above, and the silent timber still awaited, in a broad belt.
The lieutenant and the doctor had halted. They turned and began to plough back. The little column, steaming with the vapor from lungs and bodies, drew nearer to them.
"The snow is too deep, here, lads," the lieutenant called, as he and the doctor passed in front of the file. His voice was tired; anybody might have
