That and five horses humped tail to the driving wind,
stolidly enduring. She shuddered with something besides the cold. And
then Bill spoke absently, his eyes still on the smoldering heap.
"Five feet of caked snow on top of every blade of grass," she heard him
mutter. "They can't browse on trees, like deer. Aw, hell!"
He had stuck his rifle butt first in the snow. He walked over to it;
Hazel followed. When he stood, with the rifle slung in the crook of
his arm, she tried again to break through this silent aloofness which
cut her more deeply than any harshness of speech could have done.
"Bill, I'm so sorry!" she pleaded. "It's terrible, I know. What can
we do?"
"Do? Huh!" he snorted. "If I ever have to die before my time, I hope
it will be with a full belly and my head in the air--and mercifully
swift."
Even then she had no clear idea of his intention. She looked up at him
pleadingly, but he was staring at the horses, his teeth biting
nervously at his under lip. Suddenly he blinked, and she saw his eyes
moisten. In the same instant he threw up the rifle. At the thin,
vicious crack of it, Silk collapsed.
She understood then. With her hand pressed hard over her mouth to keep
back the hysterical scream that threatened, she fled to the house.
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