"I'd sure hate to pack all this snow into Mrs.Kate's parlor," he added whimsically.

"She's the kind of housekeeper that grabs the broom the minute you're gone, to sweep your tracks off the carpet.

Awful nice little woman, but--" "But not The One," chuckled Rock, treading close upon Ford's heels.
"And I'll bet fifteen cents," he offered rashly, looking up, "that the person hitting the high places for the bunk-house is The One." "How do you know ?" Ford demanded, while his eyes gladdened at sight of Josephine, with a Navajo blanket flung over her head, running down the path through the blizzard to the bunk-house kitchen.
"'Cause she shied when she saw you coming.

Came pretty near breaking back on you, too," Rock explained shrewdly.
They reached the kitchen together, and Ford threw open the door, and held it for her to pass.
"I came after some of Mose's mince-meat," she explained hastily.

"It's a terrible storm, isn't it?
I'm glad it didn't strike yesterday.