Boss Little tilted his hat back and scratched his head. He had tried this shortcut through the valley two years before, but now he couldn’t recollect whether the river ran on the left of the posts or the right. It had been September then, but this time round it was late November, and there had been an early snow.
The snow was an untrodden blanket which disguised which was the trail and which was ice. Was he on the trail, or was he about the venture into danger?
He couldn’t risk the train, so he would just have to try his luck on his own. He dismounted, and slowly headed for the level white sheet before him on the right.
Sue Vincent Prompt: “untrodden”