"Hadn't you better go back with the others--there's no need for you to get wet and cold."

"Oh, I am all right--it isn't cold--very."

"I am afraid it is going to be--the wind is rising and it's coming right in our faces. We're a pack of fools to go!"

"We must be nearly half way there, aren't we?"

"I think so--I have never been out to the Morton ranch. Well, if worst comes to worst, I guess they'll keep us all night."

The crowd was beginning to quiet down. By the time they had covered two more miles the wind was blowing the snow in their faces with stinging force. John Hardy was having trouble to keep the horses in the road.

They, too, recoiled from the snow drifting in their faces. He finally persuaded his companion to go back under the robes. Sherm volunteered to take her place.

"I don't like the look of things," said Hardy in a low tone as Sherm climbed up beside him. "Can you tell where we are?"

Sherm stared at the snow-covered waste ahead and tried to recognize some familiar land mark in the white gloom.

"Yes, I think so. That was Elm Creek you crossed some time back. We must be about half way from Elm to Big John."

"How far now?"

"Three miles."

"Can you see the time?"

"Nine-twenty."

"The d.i.c.kens, we ought to be there!"

"It oughtn't to be long now. Let me take the reins--your hands must be cold."

"Just a minute till I start the circulation. I feel sort of responsible for this gang, because I got up this fool enterprise." Hardy clapped his hands together vigorously.

"It wouldn't be bad except for the wind!" Hardy said presently.

"That's the worst of Kansas, there always is a wind!" Sherm had not yet been entirely converted to the charms of the sunflower state.

When Hardy took the reins again, Sherm still peered ahead, watching the road. He had been finding something vaguely unfamiliar about the landscape, though this was not strange since neither house nor tree nor haystack was visible through the storm until they were almost upon it.

Then it loomed up suddenly shrouded and spectral. This feeling of strangeness grew upon him and he felt uneasy.

"Stop the team a minute, Hardy." Sherm got down and went to the horses'

heads, peering all about. He sc.r.a.ped the snow away with his foot and examined the ground.

He let out a shrill whistle of dismay, as he uncovered gra.s.s spears instead of the hard-trodden road bed.

"Say, Hardy, we're off the road. I thought so from the way the sled was dragging."

Hardy climbed hastily down with an exclamation that sounded profane. The boys in the sleigh also piled hurriedly out. They soon a.s.sured themselves of the sorrowful fact.

"What can we do?"

"Isn't there a house somewhere near where we can inquire?"

"What did you fellows go to sleep for when you were driving, anyhow?"

"You'll have to go back on your tracks till you find the road again."

Questions and offers of advice were numerous.

Sherm had walked a short distance back, exploring. He returned in time to hear this last remark.

"The trouble is, Grant, the snow hasn't left us any tracks. Two hundred yards back you can hardly see where we came."

The others began to wake to the seriousness of the situation.

"Haven't you any idea where we are, Dart?"

"Not the faintest notion, except that we are somewhere between Elm and Big John. Perhaps Jane might know. She usually has a sixth sense for direction.

"Chicken Little," he called, "do you mind getting out and seeing if you can tell us where we are?"

Chicken Little was on the ground with a spring before Sherm could help her. She strained her eyes through the gloom. She, too, examined the ground, then, accompanied by Sherm and Hardy, waded through the snow for several hundred yards in each direction, the men kicking the snow in the hope of finding the track. Finally, Chicken Little gave it up.

"I don't know a blessed thing more than the rest of you. But I have the feeling we must be near Charlie Wattles' place--you know that old darkey. You see the wind was right in our faces most of the way, and it isn't now. It's coming obliquely--course the wind may have changed.

Let's try heading west a while--and see if we can find the road. Let me sit up there with you and Sherm; I might see something I'd recognize."

"Chicken Little, you'd freeze," objected Sherm.

"Not any sooner than you will, Sherman Dart."

"We can wrap her up in a blanket and she might help us--we have got to get out of this some way. It's ten o'clock."

They drove about slowly for half an hour, but they could find nothing that looked like a road. Some of the sleigh load were openly apprehensive and inclined to blame Hardy for their plight, but for the most part they were plucky and good-natured, trying to turn off their growing fear with jests.

Chicken Little glued her eyes to the dimness ahead.

Sherm suggested that they give the horses their head.

"They'll try to go back to town if we do, and I don't believe they could hold out--that off one is blowing pretty badly now. This snow is heavy as mud to pull through." Hardy looked dubious.

"Turn due west, Mr. Hardy--we can't be far from Big John."

Hardy obeyed and they drove another half hour, seeing nothing save the fluttering snowflakes and the snowy wastes opening out a few feet ahead as they advanced.

"Chicken Little, your theory is all right, but it doesn't seem to work,"

Sherm remarked regretfully.

In the meanwhile, time had also been moving along at the ranch. The big sitting room at the cottage was brightly lighted and glowingly warm from an open wood fire. By eight o'clock, coffee was steaming on the back of the kitchen stove, the extension table pulled out to its full length, was set with soup plates and cups and silver. Piles of doughnuts and baskets of apples and walnuts stood awaiting the sharp appet.i.tes the Mortons knew the cold ride would bring to them. Marian had the milk and oysters ready for the stew and sat down to rest a moment before the arrival of the guests. She hardly noticed the clock until the hand pointed to half-past eight.