THE FROZEN HARVEST OF 1907 347 



One morning I looked out of my bedroom window 

 and saw Ricky standing in the shelter of the granary 

 where he might catch the gleam if not the warmth 

 of the brilliant winter sun. I went down and tucked 

 him in the English horse-blanket, but he seemed so 

 cold and frail, and so obviously beyond the liberty 

 of the law of my outdoor theory, that I led him back 

 to a box that I had caused to be railed off in the 

 middle stable, and then I took in piles and piles of 

 straw, and fed him with scalded oats and chilled 

 water ; but his eyes were very close to the horizon. 

 I dared not think of him through the winter, but 

 the thought of a bullet was hard to bear. 



On that afternoon I drove down to the Fort, 

 and when I returned I learnt that he had contrived 

 to get out again, and had fallen over. Mr. Wilton 

 had gone at once for Danny McLeay, and they had 

 managed to get him up, and back into the stable, 

 and thought even then that he might pull through, 

 and they were all awfully good and kind about 

 him. 



But two days later I found him at the well, just 

 half an hour after I had fed and watered him. He 

 turned with his odd little greeting and fell over 

 again, and that day Mr. Wilton had gone into South 

 Qu'Appelle, and so had every one else but Patrick 

 O'Hara, who came over and did all he could to help 

 us raise him. When Mr. Wilton got back, we all 

 tried again, until poor Ricky's eyes were glittering 

 like the multitude of stars and the lovely moon which 

 seemed to be shining down all too soon that night 

 on the place where he lay in the open. 



It was seven o'clock, when the first chorus of 

 wolves came across the snow, bringing the curious 



