Sometimes I would strike a space of several yards where it did not reach to my ankles.
Then I would suddenly lurch into a wall that reached to my shoulders.
After wallowing through this, I might strike a shallow portion again, where, while walking quite briskly, a windrow of snow would be hurled against my breast and face with such fury as to force me backward and off my feet.
Bracing myself, I waited until there was a sufficient lull in the blizzard for me to make some use of my eyes.

I blinked and peered toward the different points of the compass, but without catching the first twinkle of light.
"I am lost--lost--" I moaned; "there is no help for me!" An extraordinary collapse must have come over me, for my senses seemed to forsake me on the instant.

I went down in the eddying, blinding snow, and knew no more.
At the moment of giving way I was less than a hundred yards from the easternmost house of the village.

My despairing cry was heard, and hospitable hands carried me into the dwelling within a quarter of an hour after losing my consciousness.

Intelligent and prompt treatment prevented any serious consequences, but the remembrance of that brief time exposed to the fury of the blizzard will remain with me to my dying day.
THROWING THE RIATA.
The skill shown by cattlemen in throwing the riata or lasso often approaches the marvelous.