There seemed to be a mute understanding between them, and it was never more apparent than when Maggie whinnied gently in his ear.

He stroked her big, bony head, a lump forming in his throat.

If the bullets of little Pete Reeve dropped him in some far-off trail, the old-broken-down horse would be the only living creature that would mourn for him.
Outside, the night and the storm swallowed him at once.

Before he had gone fifty feet the house was out of sight.

Then, entering the forest of balsam firs, the force of the wind was lessened, and he made good time up the first part of the grade.