“I’ll have the bluff for a guide, and it isn’t far from the end of it to the small ravine.  After that I shouldn’t have much trouble in striking the fallow.”

“It’s doubtful,” Edgar persisted.  “Let the letters wait until to-morrow.”

“No,” said George, resolutely.  “I’ve waited a week already; the mail is late.  Besides, we’ll have worse snow before morning.”

Seeing that he had made up his mind, Edgar raised no more objections, and in another few moments George disappeared into a haze of driving snow.  When he left the trail he found walking more difficult than he had expected, but though it was hard to see beyond a few yards, he had the bluff to guide him and he kept along the edge of it until the trees vanished suddenly.  Then he stopped, buffeted by the wind, to gather breath and fix clearly in his mind the salient features of the open space that he must cross.

If he could walk straight for half a mile, he would strike a small hollow and by following it he would reach a tract of cultivated ground.  This, he thought, should be marked by the absence of the taller clumps of grass and the short willow scrub which here and there broke through the snow.  There would then be a stretch of about two hundred acres to cross before he found the little shack, whose owner had gone away to work on the railroad during the winter.  He expected to have some trouble in reaching it, but he must get the letters, and he set off again, breaking through the snow-crust in places, and trying to estimate the time he took.

A quarter of an hour passed and, as there was no sign of the ravine, he began to wonder whether he had deviated much from his chosen line.  In another few minutes he was getting anxious; and then suddenly he plunged knee-deep into yielding snow.  It got deeper at the next step and he knew that he had reached the shallow depression, which had been almost filled up by the drifts.  He must cross it, and the effort this entailed left him gasping when he stopped again on the farther side.

It was still possible to retrace his steps, because he could hardly fail to strike the bluff he had left, but there was no doubt that to go on would be perilous.  If he missed the shack, he might wander about the prairie until he sank down, exhausted; and after a day of fatiguing labor he knew that he could not long face the wind and frost.  There was, however, every sign of a wild storm brewing; it might be several days before he could secure the letters if he turned back, and such a delay was not to be thought of.

He went on, following the ravine where he could trace its course, which was not always possible, until he decided that he must have reached the neighborhood of the farm.  There was, however, nothing to indicate that he had done so.  He could see only a few yards; the snow had all been smooth and unbroken near the hollow, he could distinguish no difference between any one part of it and the rest; and he recognized the risk he took when he turned his back on his last guide and struggled forward into the waste.