Behind him, down there in the hollow, were huddled the horses of his outfit, scarcely distinguishable from where he stood.

If he should venture farther off, he might never be able to find a way back again.

Even in the gray light of dawn he could see nothing distinctly a dozen yards distant.

And Wasson had the compass.

This was the thought which brought him tramping back through the drifts--Wasson! Wade was dead, Carroll little better, but the scout might have been only slightly wounded.