pull him to the cabin. It won't hurt him in the soft snow."
"Nothing will hurt him any more, poor old Jeff," said Douglas.
He dismounted and moved toward the body. Then, with teeth chattering audibly, he tied the lariat round Jeff's feet and told Jude to get on to the saddled horse.
"Guide him easy. I'll walk and lead the other horses and see that nothing goes wrong."
Still whimpering, Judith obeyed, and the strange little procession moved toward the cabin. When they reached the shed, Doug loosened the lariat. "Judith," he said, "the best thing we can do is to put him in the buck-board and take him home."
"I'm so afraid of a dead man, Doug!"
"So am I. But it's only poor old Oscar, after all, who's been our next-door neighbor all our lives. We can't leave him here alone, like a dead horse. We'll take him home. That's what Dad or any of the men would do. Come on, Jude."
They established poor Oscar on the floor of the buck-board, among the mail bags. They hitched up James and Oscar's big black, and tied Swift to the tail end. All this time the moon shone coldly on the white hills, and the coyotes howled nearer and nearer.
"Cover him deep with the quilts, Doug," whispered Judith. "I'm going to make up a pot of hot coffee, before we start."
"How about that mule?" whispered Douglas.
"Let it go plumb to hell!" returned Judith. "Scott's the one should have been shot, for sending you out with such a brute!"
"If it hadn't been for the mule, we'd never have found him," muttered Douglas.
