CHAPTER II.
Miss Conroy Refuses Shelter.
The storm lifted suddenly, as storms have a way of doing, and a low, squat ranch-house stood dimly revealed against the bleak expanse of wind-tortured prairie. Rowdy gave an exultant little whoop and made for the gate, leaned and swung it open and rode through, dragging Chub after him by main strength, as usual. When he turned to close the gate after Miss Conroy he found her standing still in the lane.
"Come on in," he called, with a trace of impatience born of his weariness and hunger.
"Thank you, no." Miss Conroy's voice was as crisply cold as the wind which fluttered the Navajo blanket around her face. "I much prefer the blizzard."
For a moment Rowdy found nothing to say; he just stared. Miss Conroy shifted uneasily in the saddle.
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