The thought came that if he remained in the saddle he would freeze stiff.

Again he turned, and sent the voice of command down the struggling line: "Dismount; wind the rope around your pommels.

Sam.

How far is it to the Cimarron ?" "More 'n twenty miles." "All right! We 've got to make it, boys," forcing a note of cheerfulness into his voice.

"Hang on to the bit even if you drop.