He had managed to seat Miss Bridger so that her back was toward the stove and the Pilgrim, and he did it so unobtrusively that neither guessed his reason.

He taught her coon-can, two-handed whist and Chinese solitaire before a gray lightening outside proclaimed that the night was over.
Miss Bridger, heavy-eyed and languid, turned her face to the window; Billy swept the cards together and stacked them with an air of finality.
"I guess we can hit the trail now without losing ourselves," he remarked briskly.

"Pilgrim, come on out and help me saddle up; we'll see if that old skate of yours is able to travel." The Pilgrim got up sullenly and went out, and Billy followed him silently.

His own horse had stood with the saddle on all night, and the Pilgrim snorted when he saw it.

But Billy only waited till the Pilgrim had put his saddle on the gentlest mount they had, then took the reins from him and led both horses to the door.
"All right," he called to the girl; helped her into the saddle and started off, with not a word of farewell from Miss Bridger to the Pilgrim.
The storm had passed and the air was still and biting cold.