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Updated: May 27, 2025
Her hammock was screened from the light by one dark shadow, like a straight-hung curtain. Save for the music of a fiddle and men's voices, the silver-white world lay silent in enchanted sleep. Then suddenly something moved. A tall, dark figure was coming to the veranda. It paused at the cactus fence. Could it be Knight, home already and on foot? No, it was a woman.
She trod over the tops of the deep drifts with an accentuation of her usual strong free step. The snow fell thickly and steadily, a cold, finely-spun, straight-hung curtain, veiling all the muffled sleeping valley. There was an inconceivable silence about her as she drew her snow-shoes over the velvet-like masses of the snow.
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