A COLD WIND

January if the central Arizona mountains can be a cold affair. this day the wind had been blowing hard with a hard chill bitting deep into the core of man and beast. arch Hawkins was mounted on a good roan horse working his way back down the nountain toward the house on date creek. the trail was a series of switch backs on the steep hillside. far below he could see the water of date creek through the bare, stark  limbs of the giant cotton wood trees that lined the banks of the creek. at each turn of the trail the wind would buffet  him and the tired horse he rode. his black hat was pulled down to his ears, the brim low over his eyes. his coller on his carhardt coat was pulled up and over his blue scarf that was wrapped around his neck twice and knotted under his chin. the bull hide chaps and rawhide tapaderos protected his legs and feet but the constant assail of the cold and wind had him chilled to the bone. twice during the day arch had halted in a sheltered place and built a fire to warm himself. but within minutes of remounting the wind had returned the cold his core. in the west he could see a long , low line of black clouds approaching. rolling along as if on wheels. as they reached the creek bank and turned toward the house and barn a mile away the roan picked up his pace. he knew a feed of  grain and maybe a night in the barn out of the wind lay ahead. the wind whipped the horses tail around and slapped the riders leg with a popping sound. the horse lowered his head  and marched on. the rider hid his chin in the scarf and hunkered down in his coat. the bare limbs of the cotton wood trees passed over heard as they wound their way down the trail.
  reaching the yard arch could smell wood smoke ahead. in the gathering dusk he could saee a blue and white Chevrolet pick up parked by the house. from behind the house the came the mutter of the witte generater. lights shown through the windows of the little frame house. stoping in front of the saddle room arch sat for A MOMENT THEN LIFTING HIS RIGHT LEG HE SWUNG TO THE GROUND. HE HUNG TO THE SADDLE HORN AS THE CIRRCULATION RETURNNED TO HIS LEGS. pulling the saddle from the weary horse arch led him to a leanto stall and fed him a measure of grain.the clouds were thickining and and the temperature had dropped a little more. back inside arch sat on a stool and removed the bull hide chaps  and hung them on a nail. he  turned to the house, pulling the saddle roon door closed against the wind. a snow flake touched his cheep as he looked up to the sky. a shudder went through him as he thought of what awaited him in the house. a warm fire, and a hot meal. when his sister  came to visit it was always a  good meal.