WINTER WEATHER 



75 



to let them go, and then to organize an expedition to follow them as soon 

 as possible. Line riding is very cold work, and dangerous too, when the 

 men have to be out in a blinding snow-storm, or in a savage blizzard that 

 takes the spirit in the thermometer far down below zero. In the worst 

 storms it is impossible for any man to be out. 



But other kinds of work besides line riding necessitate exposure to 

 bitter weather. Once, while spending a few days over on Beaver Creek 

 hunting up a lost horse, I happened to meet a cowboy who was out on 

 the same errand, and made friends with him. We started home together 

 across the open prairies, but were caught in a very heavy snow-storm 

 almost immediately after leaving the ranch where we had spent the night. 

 We were soon completely turned round, the great soft flakes — for, luckily, 

 it was not cold — almost blinding us, and we had to travel entirely by 

 compass. After feeling our way along for eight or nine hours, we finally 

 got down into the broken country near Sentinel Butte and came across 

 an empty hut, a welcome sight to men as cold, hungry, and tired as we 

 were. In this hut we passed the night very comfortably, picketing our 

 horses in a sheltered nook near by, with plenty of hay from an old stack. 

 To while away the long evening, I read Hamlet aloud, from a little 

 pocket Shakspere. The cowboy, a Texan, — one of the best riders I have 

 seen, and also a very intelligent as well as a thoroughly good fellow in 

 every way, — was greatly interested in it and commented most shrewdly 

 on the parts he liked, especially Polonius's advice to Laertes, which he 

 translated into more homely language with great relish, and ended with 

 the just criticism that ''old Shakspere saveyed human natur' some " — 

 savey being a verb presumably adapted into the limited plains' vocabulary 

 from the Spanish. 



Even for those who do not have to look up stray horses, and who are 

 not forced to ride the line day in and day out, there is apt to be some 

 hardship and danger in being abroad during the bitter weather; yet a 

 ride in midwinter is certainly fascinating. The great white country 

 wrapped in the powdery snow-drift seems like another land ; and the 

 familiar landmarks are so changed that a man must be careful lest he lose 

 his way, for the discomfort of a night in the open during such weather is 

 very great indeed. When the sun is out the glare from the endless white 

 stretches dazzles the eyes ; and if the gray snow-clouds hang low and 

 only let a pale, wan light struggle through, the lonely wastes become 

 fairly appalling in their desolation. For hour after hour a man may go 

 on and see no sign of life except, perhaps, a big white owl sweeping 

 noiselessly by, so that in the dark it looks like a snow-wreath ; the cold 



