“Let us stay here for a time and help Laughing Pony fix his shoulder and leg, then we will go. We will still have them before daybreak tomorrow.”

The young men shook their heads and grumbled but did as he told them to do.

——— Chapter Nineteen ———

IT WAS ALMOST as if the storm had been waiting for them. Mr. Grimes led, pulling two pack horses and Francis followed pulling two more out into the prairie away from the mouth of the canyon and the snow took on more force, coming so fast that it quickly covered the horses and packs. Francis looked back and could see no trace of any tracks—the snow blew in as fast as they were made—and he smiled.

It was silly to keep going now, when surely their tracks would be blotted by the snow.

Mr. Grimes rode on. To be sure, he eased the pace a bit—impossible not to, the way the wind was driving at them—but he didn’t stop.

Another hour passed. The snow was heavier, thicker. It was hard for Francis to see the short ten feet to Mr. Grimes. The temperature had dropped ten or fifteen degrees, and it was now near freezing. Francis took turns with his hands in handling the reins, holding one beneath his shirt to warm while the other got numb on the reins.

And still they ran. The world became a mixture of thudding hoofs, howling wind, and slashing snow. Twice, Francis had to force himself to resist cutting loose the two pack horses following him. He had tied their lead lines around his waist, and they kept pulling at him, holding him back, snagging at him.

There was no telling how long Mr. Grimes would have pushed them. He might have tried to ride the storm out. But finally, the little mare decided for them.

One second she was running almost smooth, and the next she was tumbling down under Francis, throwing him clear as she collapsed. He screamed, and luckily Mr. Grimes heard him.

By the time the mountain man had wheeled and stopped, Francis was getting up from the snow. The mare was on her feet, too, but sagging and with her head nearly on the ground. She had run just short of breaking her heart.

Francis loosened the pack horses’ lead lines from his waist and looked up, through the snow and wind, at the mountain man, who was still mounted. He could see the verdict on the man’s frost-covered face.

“No!” Francis screamed. “I’m not leaving her!”

“Mr. Tucket …”

“I’m not leaving her!” Francis repeated. He knew how foolish it sounded. They were out in the open in a violent storm, but he was going to stay with his horse. He didn’t care. She hadn’t flinched when those five Crows jumped him. He wasn’t going to leave her to die in a blizzard just for a few beaver pelts.

“Mr. Tucket …”