"They went off sou'-west," shouted the sergeant. "I should----" A
furious blast as the gale recommenced carried away whatever else he
might have said, and Jim was alone with his good horse on the prairie.
There was no hesitancy in his mind. South-west he would push as hard as
he could go. The animals had probably not gone far; he must soon come up
with them, and the sooner the better.
Gallantly his steed stepped out through the deepening snowdrifts. Fain
would the sensible animal have turned and made his way back to his
stable, but Jim's credit was at stake, and no turning back was allowed.
Mile after mile was covered; where could those animals be in this storm?
Ha! a sudden furious rush of wind brought Jim's horse nearly to its
knees. How the gale roared, and how the snow drove in his face! Up and
on again, south-west after those horses!
But which _was_ the south-west? The daylight had completely faded; not a
gleam showed where the sun had set. Jim felt for his pocket-compass; it
was gone! The wind, blowing apparently from every quarter in
succession, was no guide at all. Nothing was visible more than a yard
away; nothing within that distance but driving snowflakes. Any tracks of
the runaways would be covered up in a few moments; in any case there was
no light to discern them.
[Sidenote: Lost!]
However, it was of no use to stand still. By pressing on he might
overtake his quarry, and after fright had driven them away, instinct
might lead them home.
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