The others, stumbling about in the deep snow, which had drifted around them during the brief halt, stripped the blanket from Wade's dead body, and tucked it in about Carroll as best they could.
"Now keep kicking and thrashing around, George," ordered the Sergeant sternly.

"For God's sake, don't go to sleep, or you 'll be where Jim is.

We 'll haul you out of this, old man.

Sam, you take the rear, and hit Carroll a whack every few minutes; I'll break trail.

Forward! now." They plunged into it, ploughing a way through the drifts, the reluctant horses dragging back at first, and drifting before the fierce sweep of the wind, in spite of every effort at guidance.