Rowdy of the "Cross L"
His tone was too elaborately cheerful to be very cheering. He was wondering if the girl was dressed warmly. It had been so warm and sunny before the blizzard struck, but now the wind searched out the thin places in one's clothing and ran lead in one's bones, where should be simply marrow. He fancied that her voice, when she spoke, gave evidence of actual suffering—and the heart of Rowdy Yaughan was ever soft toward a woman.
"If you're cold," he began, "I'll open up my bed and get out a blanket." He held Dixie in tentatively.
"Oh, don't trouble to do that," she protested; but there was that in her voice which hardened his impulse into fixed resolution.
"I ought to have thought of it before," he lamented, and swung down stiffly into the snow.
Her eyes followed his movement with a very evident interest while he unbuckled the pack Chub had carried since sunrise and drew out a blanket.
"Stand in your stirrup," he commanded briskly, "and I'll wrap you up. It's a Navajo, and the wind will have a time trying to find a thin spot."
"You're thoughtful." She snuggled into it thankfully, "I was cold."
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