I--I'm deadly afraid of a gun!" Billy was not particularly impressed by the last statement, but he felt himself at the end of his resources and buckled the belt around him without more argument.

After all, he told himself, it was not likely that she would have cause for alarm in the few hours that he would be gone, and those hours he meant to trim down as much as possible.
Out of the coulee where the high wall broke the force of the storm, he faced the snow and wind and pushed on doggedly.

It was bitter riding, that night, but he had seen worse and the discomfort of it troubled him little; it was not the first time he had bent head to snow and driving wind and had kept on so for hours.

What harassed him most were the icy hills where the chinook had melted the snow, and the north wind, sweeping over, had frozen it all solid again.

He could not ride as fast as he had counted upon riding, and he realized that it would be long hours before he could get back to the cabin with a horse from Bridger's.
Billy could not tell when first came the impulse to turn back.