The little affair was the one touch of
verisimilitude about the thing. No doubt my worthy connections are
grieving over your lapse."
"My sense of humor had never much chance of developing," said Winston
grimly. "What is the matter with you?"
"Pulmonary hemorrhage!" said Courthorne. "Perhaps it was born in me,
but I never had much trouble until after that night in the snow at the
river. Would you care to hear about it? We're not fond of each other,
but after the steer-drivers I've been herding with, it's a relief to
talk to a man of moderate intelligence."
"Go on," said Winston.
"Well," said Courthorne, "when the trooper was close behind me, my
horse went through the ice, but somehow I crawled out. We were almost
across the river, and it was snowing fast, while I had a fancy that I
might have saved the horse, but, as the troopers would probably have
seen a mounted man, I let him go. The stream sucked him under, and,
though you may not believe it, I felt very mean when I saw nothing but
the hole in the ice. Then, as the troopers didn't seem inclined to
cross, I went on through the snow, and, as it happened, blundered
across Jardine's old shanty. There was still a little prairie hay in
the place, and I lay in it until morning, dragging fresh armfuls around
me as I burnt it in the stove. Did you ever spend a night, wet
through, in a place that was ten to twenty under freezing?"
"Yes," said Winston dryly. "I have done it twice.
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