A Try for Ptarmigan 237 



the landscape was absolutely terrifying. Under 

 such a downfall a trail would not show for a min- 

 ute. 



" Come — quick ! " said Joe, as he turned, and 

 the gleam of his wild eyes was a solemn warning. 



I have run in a snow-shoe steeplechase over 

 rough country, have staggered home cooked to 

 a turn after one of those desperate efforts which 

 fool men will make for a pewter mug, a cheer, and 

 some woman's smile. I have been "butchered 

 to make a Roman holiday " on sliding seat, steel 

 blades, spiked shoon, and other modern refine- 

 ments, while shrill voices rang and dainty thumbs 

 turned down (they all despise a loser); I have 

 been guilty of that crime of blunders, getting into 

 the " gym " arena with the wrong man ; but of all 

 the bucketings ever I got, Joe gave me the worst ! 

 Peace be to his ashes — he was a scared Indian, 

 and he had no better sense. 



Only those who have chased a smoke-tanned 

 fire-water worshipper on snow-shoes about two 

 jumps ahead of a blizzard can understand. I 

 knew that he knew the trail, and I vowed that if 

 he lost me it was my fault. All I could see was 

 his dim back rising and falling in mighty effort — 

 then we ran for it in dead earnest. No picking 

 of path — no anything but chase — chase — chase. 

 He never hesitated nor slackened, and all the 

 while the snow thickened and the wind shouted 



