CHAPTER VIII 



THE COMING OF WINTER 



" I SUPPOSE this is what you call the freeze-up ? " 

 remarked Tom, as we pursued our way towards 

 my homestead. 



" I guess that's about it, and the sooner we 

 make ourselves snug the better," I returned. 



It was one of the grey days — that is to say, the 

 clouds over our heads were grey, but the land- 

 scape might be described as a study in black 

 and white — black where there were almost leafless 

 bluffs of willow and poplar, white elsewhere, with 

 its snowy mantle. True, there were bits of the 

 trail which the wind had swept clear of the dry, 

 sand-like snow, but they were too insignificant 

 to count much in the general appearance, while 

 in hollows, and under the lee of bluffs or obstruc- 

 tions to the free sweep of the wind, drifts had 

 begun to form. 



The badger-holes, too, had become mostly 

 obliterated, making travel across the open prairie 

 more difficult, while if one inadvertently plimges 



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