When he came to, he was lying in the snow and he was very, very cold. He tried to crawl, felt a terrible pain somewhere between his knee and his ankle, tried to put some weight on it and almost blacked out again. His lower leg was bent out at a right angle from his knee. The leg was badly broken, there was something very wrong with his shoulder, he was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, he felt all banged up inside. He drew a long, ragged breath, felt a terrible pain in his ribs. He was in a world of trouble. He could not remain where he was. Somehow, he had to get up and walk. A half dozen times, he tried to drag himself onto his good leg, but each time he put pressure on the broken leg, a red wave of pain broke over him and he felt the world spinning. He heard a horse whinny somewhere and shouted for help, then thought how foolish that was. If there were horses out here, they were grazing. No cowpuncher would be fool enough to ride out at midnight in the dead of winter unless he had to. He sank back into the snow, fighting an overwhelming desire to sleep despite the pain.

Eli managed to turn himself partway around, far enough to spot the Cadillac lying on its side. He had peeled off his warm sheepskin coat and left it on the seat, but he was wearing his union suit under his clothing and he had on thick woolen socks, good boots, good gloves. He had kept the Stetson on his head, but that did his ears no good. They would be frostbitten in minutes in this cold. He had a long wool scarf around his neck. He wound it twice around his ears and once under his jaw and across his face to keep his nose from freezing. He pushed the Stetson down over the scarf, then drew the scarf two more turns to hold the hat over his ears. There were blankets in the car if he could reach them, but the Caddy might as well have been a hundred miles away. Even if he could get to it, with the Cadillac lying on its side, he couldn’t climb up to open the door and reach the blankets. Still, the car was the only possible refuge. If nothing else, maybe he could crawl into the trunk. The trick was to get there. The only way he could move forward was to pull with his right arm and push with his left leg, putting more strain on his ribs. He began dragging himself toward the car in a steady rhythm. Pull with the hand, push with the good leg. It went well until he tried to move too fast, twisted the broken leg, blacked out again.