into his room. He usually knew what he had to say; usually found it easy to arrange his thoughts; and after such arranging the words came of themselves. But as he looked at Shorty, this did not happen to him. There was not a line of badness in the face; yet also there was not a line of strength; no promise in eye, or nose, or chin; the whole thing melted to a stubby, featureless mediocrity. It was a countenance like thousands; and hopelessness filled the Virginian as he looked at this lost dog, and his dull, wistful eyes.
But some beginning must be made.
"I wonder what the thermometer has got to be," he said. "Yu' can see it, if yu'll hold the lamp to that right side of the window."
Shorty held the lamp. "I never used any," he said, looking out at the instrument, nevertheless.
The Virginian had forgotten that Shorty could not read. So he looked out of the window himself, and found that it was twenty-two below zero. "This is pretty good tobacco," he remarked; and Shorty helped himself, and filled his pipe.
"I had to rub my left ear with snow to-day," said he. "I was just in time."
"I thought it looked pretty freezy out where yu' was riding," said the foreman.
The lost dog's eyes showed plain astonishment. "We didn't see you out there," said he.
"Well," said the foreman, "it'll soon not be freezing any more; and then we'll all be warm enough with work. Everybody will be working all over the range. And I wish I knew somebody that had a lot of stable work to be attended to, I cert'nly do for your sake."
