He worried some over the ride down and getting back to the lodge. He knew they would ride in the dark, passing over snow and ice slicks and following a trail neighter of them would be able to see. He would ride half-frozen atop Molly with the air biting into his clothes. But it was the ride down. He told himself this. The ride down. He thought of the lights he would pick-up from the trail, lights coming from the lodge. He knew when he saw them there would be some measure of solace then. He thought of the woodstove heating the bunkhouse. The strong odor of wood smoke filling the room. The good sleep that would surely come.