"I'll bet he's huntin' a warm corner somewheres, right now." "No, he ain't, by cripes!" Big Medicine corrected him.

"That there Come-Paddy cat of yourn has got worse troubles than snow! Dog's got him treed up the windmill.

I seen--" Applehead did not wait to hear what Big Medicine had seen.

He drank the remainder of his coffee in one great, scalding gulp, and went out to rescue his cat and to put the fear of death into the little black dog.
When he returned, puffing a little, to his interrupted meal and had told them a few of the things he meant to do to that dog if it refused to mend its ways, he declared again that he could "shore smell snow behind that wind." "I wish it would hold off till that raw stock gets here," Luck observed anxiously.

"I wired the order in, but at that I'm afraid it won't get here before the end of the week.