Chapter XIX: Blizzard

As the sun rose higher the wind began to blow. The loose surface snow was set in motion, crawling and creeping up the frozen waves. The wind gained in strength, and everywhere the plain seemed to be moving. The glitter was less trying to the eyes now, for the sun had grown hazy. Louis glanced up at the sky, shouted to his dogs, sent his long whip flying through the air and flicked the leader with the lash.

“A storm comes,” he called to his companions. “We must make haste and reach the river where it bends to the north.”

With the increase of speed, Walter, less experienced in this sort of travel than his comrades, found keeping up difficult. Neither with nor without snowshoes was he the equal of the swift, tireless Louis. Neil too was his superior on snowshoes, though on bare ground Walter could outrun the Scotch boy. In spite of all his efforts he fell behind. Seeing his difficulty, Louis suggested that he ride for a while, standing on the rear of the sled. Glad though he was of a few minutes’ rest, Walter did not ride long. The northwest wind soon chilled him through, and he was forced to run to warm himself.

The dogs’ pace was slackening. The course was due west, and the wind, striking them at an angle, slowed their progress. The surface snow, caught up by the gale, drove against and swirled about beasts and boys.

Walter plodded after the others, head lowered, capote hood pulled down over his cap to his eyes. Suddenly he realized that the fine, driving, blinding stuff that struck against him with such force and stung wherever it touched his bare skin, was not merely the fallen snow whipped forward by the wind. Snow was falling,—or being lashed down upon him,—from above. The sunshine was gone. The distance, the sky were wholly blotted out. He and his comrades were in the grip of a hard northwest storm, a genuine prairie blizzard.

Louis was having his hands full trying to keep a straight course. All landmarks blotted out, the wind was the only guide, and the dogs were continually edging away from the bitter blast. The French boy, of a naturally kind disposition and brought up by a good mother and a father who had no Indian blood, was far more humane than most dog drivers. He never abused his beasts, and he punished them only when discipline was necessary. Now, however, he was compelled to use the whip vigorously to keep them from swinging far to the south. Shouts and commands, drowned out by the roaring of the wind, were of little avail.

Dogs and boys struggled on in the driving wind, the bitter cold, and the blinding snow; and the struggle saved them from freezing. The snow was coming so thick and fast they could see only a few feet in any direction. Following behind the toboggan, Walter could not make out Askimé or the second dog. The third beast, next to the sled, was but a dim shape. Louis and Neil took turns going ahead of Askimé. While one was breaking trail, the other wielded the whip and tried to keep the dogs in the track.

Plodding on through a white, swirling world, fighting against wind and snow, his whole mind intent on keeping the shadowy, moving forms in sight, his feet feeling like clogs of wood, his ankles and calves aching with the unaccustomed exercise of snowshoeing, Walter lost all count of time. When the sled stopped, he kept on blindly and nearly fell over it.

Louis seized him by the arm and shouted, “We can go no farther. We can’t keep a straight course. We must camp here.”

Walter tried to look about him. He could see nothing but wind-driven snow, not a tree or hill or other sign of shelter. “We’ll freeze to death,” he protested huskily.

“No, no, we will be safe and warm. Kick off your snowshoes and help Neil dig.”

Walter obeyed, slipping his feet from the thongs. Following the Scotch lad’s example, he seized one of the shoes and, using it as a shovel, began to scoop up snow. Louis unharnessed the dogs and unlaced the hide cover, almost freezing his fingers in the process. Hastily dumping the supplies in a heap, he turned the sled on its side, and joined the diggers. In the lee of the toboggan, which kept the drifting snow from filling the hole as fast as they dug it out, the three boys worked for their lives. Down through the dry, loose surface, through the firm packed layer below, to the hard frozen ground, they dug. Scooping out the snow, they tried to make a wall, though the wind swept it away almost as rapidly as they piled it up.

Working steadily at their best speed, they succeeded at last in excavating a hole large enough to hold all three. The heap of supplies had been converted into a mound, the toboggan into a drift. Burrowing into the mound, the boys pulled out robes and blankets, hastily spread them at the bottom of the hole, and threw in their supplies. A long pole, that Louis had added to the load just before starting, was laid across the hole, one end resting on the toboggan. Clinging to the hide cover to keep it from blowing away, they drew it over the pole and weighted down the corners with a keg of powder, a sack of bullets, and the steel traps. After the edges of this tent roof had been banked with snow to hold it more securely, the three lads crawled under it.

When he had recovered his breath, Walter asked, “What has become of the dogs?” He had not noticed them since Louis took off their harness.

“Do you think they are lost then?” said their master with a grin. “No, they have buried themselves in the snow to keep warm. They have earned a meal though, and they shall have it.” Seizing three of the frozen fish he had brought for the dogs, Louis crawled out into the storm to find and feed them.

He was back in a few minutes, huddling among the robes and blankets. The hole was none too large. When they sat up straight, their heads nearly touched the hide cover, and all three could not lie down at one time. But in the snug burrow, with the snow-banked sled to windward, they did not feel the wind at all.

Knowing that they might have to camp where there was no fuel to be found, Louis had included a few small sticks among their supplies. Shaving one of the sticks into splinters, he struck his flint and steel and kindled a tiny fire on the bare ground in the center of the shelter. In the cover above he cut a little hole for the smoke to escape. Small though the blaze was, it sent out heat enough to thaw the boys’ stiff fingers and feet, and its light was cheering in the dark burrow. Louis melted snow, made tea, and thawed out a chunk of frozen pemmican.

By the time the meal was over, Walter found himself surprisingly warm and comfortable. He had not supposed he could be so comfortable in such a crude shelter. He was drowsy and wanted to take a nap, but one fear troubled him and made him reluctant to yield to his sleepiness.

“If the snow covers us over, won’t we smother in this hole?” he asked.

Louis shook his head. “There is no danger, I think. Often men overtaken by storm camp in the snow like this, and I never heard of anyone being smothered. There is not much snow on our tent now. It banks up against the toboggan and blows off our roof. But even if we are buried in a drift, we can still breathe I think, and we won’t freeze while we have food and a little wood to make hot tea.”

“And the dogs?”

“They will sleep warm, covered by the snow.”

Reassured, Walter settled himself as comfortably as he could manage in the cramped quarters, and went to sleep. When he woke, he found the others both sleeping, Neil curled up in his thick plaid, and Louis in a sitting position with his head down on his knees. The fire had gone out, and in spite of the blanket in which he was wrapped and the buffalo robe spread over Neil and himself, Walter felt chilled through. It was too dark in the hole for him to see the figures on his watch. Trying to rub some warmth into his cramped legs, he roused Louis.

“How long have I been asleep? Is it night?”

“I think not yet,” replied Louis, answering the second question. “It grows colder. I will make a fire and we will have some hot tea.”

To clear a space for the fire, Louis unceremoniously rolled Neil over and woke him. The Scotch lad growled and grumbled at being disturbed, but the prospect of hot tea restored his good humor. Looking at his watch in the light of the tiny blaze, Walter discovered that it was not yet five o’clock. The storm still raged over them.

“Do we get something to eat with this?” Neil asked, as Louis poured the steaming tea into his tin cup.

“Not now. We have only a little wood. We must not keep the fire burning. Warm your fingers and your feet well before it burns out.”

Louis was the leader of the expedition, and Neil did not question his decree. The three drew their blankets and robes closer about them, and made the most of the hot drink and the tiny fire. They were not sleepy now, so they talked, huddled together for warmth.

After a time conversation lagged. They grew silent, then drowsy. Walter dropped off, and woke to find Louis kindling another little blaze. It was after nine, and the three made a scanty meal of thawed pemmican before going to sleep again.

During the night Walter woke several times to rub his chilly body and limbs and snuggle closer to his companions. A buffalo robe and a blanket lay between him and the ground, his capote hood was drawn over his fur cap, he was wrapped in a blanket, and with his companions, covered with another robe, yet in his dreams he was conscious of the cold. He did not think of complaining. He had slept cold many a night since leaving Fort York. In the midst of this howling blizzard, he was thankful to be as comfortable as he was and in no immediate danger of freezing.